


Hopeful for Happiness

by ElizColl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Divorced Hermione Granger, Divorced Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Intrigue, Mystery, Neighbors, Romance, Widowed Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 74,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26797072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl
Summary: When Malfoy moves across the street two months after Hermione's divorce, she finds herself attracted to him in ways she's not sure she's ready for. But those gray eyes and lean muscles just won't quit, and she finds herself falling for her new neighbor. Surprisingly, Malfoy's business dealings in the Muggle world may hold the key to keeping peace in the Wizarding world during a period of global unrest. Canon and epilogue compliant, post-Ron and post-Astoria.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 101
Kudos: 168





	1. The Neighbor (Lemonade)

_Author's Note: I originally posted Chapter 1 as a one-shot mostly PWP. I got enough requests to turn the one-shot into a story, that I've done so, and here is the result!_

* * *

Hermione sipped her tea and gazed fondly at her photo of her daughter Rose, wearing her Gryffindor hat and shirt with a trace of butterbeer foam on her top lip. Hermione's mind wandered back to the weekend they had spent together in Hogsmeade last month over spring holidays. It had been Rose and Hugo's first holiday since the divorce with Ron was finalized in February, and Hermione's time with the children had brightened her mood and pulled her out of the rote motions of daily living she had fallen into after the divorce.

She placed her cup of tea on the table and opened her new book, settling in to read for a few minutes before bed. Her eyes strayed to the newly renovated house across the street, a repeat occurrence since Draco Malfoy had moved in. She and Malfoy had become passing and polite acquaintances over the years, but generally didn't move in the same social circles, and she had seen him only a handful of times since Astoria's death. She had been surprised when Malfoy moved into the newly renovated home. She had been even more surprised when she had gone to welcome him to the neighborhood last week, and they had ended up chatting for a half hour on his porch.

He had opened his door in confusion at first, and when Hermione had greeted him, explaining they were now neighbors, his clear gray eyes had crinkled at the corners in a genuine smile. "That's an unexpected and wonderful surprise!" he'd said, hand ruffling through his hair. Malfoy's wide smile had caused a small swooping sensation in her stomach that was unexpected but not entirely unwelcome. They chatted, Hermione explaining her recent divorce with Ron – his eyes had darkened in sympathy – and him discussing the need for his own change now that Scorpius was halfway through his time at Hogwarts; the Manor was too big and held too many memories of life with Astoria and Scorpius together. As they had talked, Hermione's eyes took him fully in; he looked like he had poured himself into his white button-down shirt and dark muggle jeans, and she had swallowed heavily, trying not to stare at his rounded chest and arms pressing firmly against the cotton fabric, slightly straining against the buttons. He clearly took care of himself. Which was not shocking, this _was_ Draco Malfoy.

They had parted ways with heat pooling between Hermione's legs and an accepted invitation for a drink and a tour of his newly renovated home the following weekend. In the days since, Hermione had continued to relive her memories of Malfoy's gray eyes probing hers on his porch, and she found herself fantasizing about what he looked like under his tight button-down shirt. The swooping sensation she felt on his porch had turned into outright lust in the ensuing days. She had been too caught up in the misery of ending her marriage to think about other men for the past year, and her intimacy with Ron in the bedroom had dwindled to nothing some time before that.

Although she'd have never expected Malfoy would be the first man to catch her eye post-divorce, she couldn't bring herself to feel any shame over it. He was too attractive, and too nice, and their school days too far gone, for past grudges to hold weight anymore. Her spark of interest in Malfoy was a good thing, she felt, and she was most certainly looking forward to seeing him again Friday night.

* * *

Wednesday evening, Hermione returned from work late, dusk settling outside and house windows lighting up against the darkening sky. As she prepared a light dinner for herself, she flicked her eyes frequently toward Malfoy's house, eventually catching sight of him walking by the large upstairs window.

She continued looking, levitating her soup over to the dining table, and he walked by again, this time with his shirt off. Now Hermione's attention was fully focused on the window. After 30 more seconds she was rewarded; he walked back by fully nude. Her face broke into an unbelieving grin, and she stifled a groan, wishing she were close enough to see more than just his blurred nude form. He must be showering; maybe he'd come back out for another show after. She kept her eyes open, barely focusing on her dinner, and some time later, she saw him close the curtains wrapped in a towel. She sighed contentedly. Show over for the night. Closing her own curtains against the almost-dark sky, she set a spell to clean up her dinner dishes and settled into the sofa with a book, her fantasies filling in the details she couldn't see from so far away.

* * *

Friday evening arrived, and after changing into a skirt and halter top and touching up her makeup and hair, Hermione crossed the street to meet Malfoy. He was in his yard tending to a built-in sprinkler line, and he smiled as she approached. Her eyes traveled up his muscled legs to where they disappeared into his khaki shorts, and then continued up his loose linen shirt, which strained slightly over his chest, and then up to his eyes. His gray eyes made her melt. Those eyes turned her lusting over his body into a full on knickers-melting. _Steady,_ she thought, _don't drop your knickers on the sidewalk._

"Have you unpacked all your things yet?" she asked, stopping in front of him and catching his gaze.

"Yes, I finally finished two days ago," he groaned. "So glad this move is finally over!"

"Really?" she laughed. "What took so long to get unpacked?"

"I had a lot going on at work, and some travel to France, and just wasn't here much after I moved in." He bent down to adjust the sprinkler head, then turned his beautiful eyes to her once more, asking her about her week.

She found it difficult to focus on his words, becoming lost in his gray eyes that never strayed from hers. But she gamely kept up her half of the exchange, internally melting a little more with each passing second. She gazed into his eyes, heat starting to grow between her legs again. There was no reason to look away, and he rarely broke the gaze. Trying to stem the flush rising in her face, she asked, "Was your work travel for PotionLab? It's headquartered in France, isn't it?"

Hermione knew Draco had founded a mixed magical/Muggle business 10 or 15 years ago, and it was now an international business traded on the Muggle stock market. As the founder of a company that employed and collaborated with Muggles, he certainly had come far since their school days. 

Draco nodded. "Yeah, I've been back and forth to Paris nearly every week for the past several months. We've focused on cutting edge technologies like regenerative and neuropsychiatric medicine for years, but a lot of our resources right now are diverted to working on a more effective coronavirus vaccine for Muggle use."

"My parents told me about that! They heard it on the BBC." Her parents were continuously worried about contracting the disease through their dental practice. "I've never been so glad to be a witch; thank Merlin we're not susceptible to that blasted disease. Speaking of healing, I heard your mother is working on a fundraiser for St. Mungo's, to build a new wing for healing potions research."

"She is," he affirmed. "She actually stayed with me last night so we could discuss details for the fundraiser." He grimaced. "Then she spent today shopping for new furniture for the guest bedroom." He gestured toward the house; presumably the guest bedroom was in there somewhere, she thought distantly, distracted by his muscles flexing as he waved his arm. "And she told me I need to redo the master bath because a shower isn't a proper shower without marble tile and brass fixtures. She doesn't like the modern finishes I chose."

Malfoy stepped closer, breaking into Hermione's personal space. She felt simultaneously uncomfortable and thrilled with the proximity. Tilting her head to look up at him at this new, closer angle, his shower comment triggered her memory, and she decided to be bold. Not breaking eye contact, heart racing, she said softly, "You should close your curtains before you undress for the shower. I have a full view of everything in your new windows."

His eyes widened a fraction before he broke into a grin. "You didn’t like what you saw?"

Her stomach dropped in desire, her core tingled, and her breath caught. He was flirting with her! Summoning her courage, she smirked. "Based on what you were wearing when we talked on your porch last week, I'm sure I would have loved what I saw, had I been close enough to see any details. But I wasn't."

A fire lit behind his eyes, his smile turning slightly predatory. "Would you like to remedy that?"

_He did not just say that. He did not just say that. Oh lord, yes!_ Despite her instinct to flee, to back up, to establish her personal bubble again, she stood her ground, still riveted by those eyes, the heat between her legs pooling into something tangible. She smiled sweetly up at him, not giving away the speeding pulse and breathlessness coming over her. "I do like fine art. And good architecture. I'd be happy to take you up on that tour of your house now."

The corners of his eyes crinkled, melting her further, and his smile widened. "Perfect," he murmured, and he turned toward the house. Finally released from his gaze, Hermione took a deep but shaky breath, glanced at her house, and followed him up the walk.

-o~0~o-

Malfoy held the door open for her as she entered; she glanced at him, his intense gaze unwavering, and a smile hovering at his lips. She walked past him and stopped, trying to concentrate on the house and the rooms and say something intelligible. He closed the door softly; she stood slightly frozen and unable to look back at him.

"This is beautiful…" she began politely, trying to hide her nerves, when she felt him step closer and place his hand on her hip from behind. Warning bells sounded in her head – _this is too soon, I'm not ready for someone else yet_ – but she couldn't bring herself to listen to them. His chest pressed against her back, he moved her hair to the side, and he softly kissed the side of her neck. She shuddered, breath catching, and then he moved away, stepping to the side and leading her toward the kitchen. The warning bells faded into background chatter, present but ignored. Much stronger was the sensation of Malfoy's lips, still lingering like a butterfly on her neck. Feeling slightly empty as he moved away, she followed him to the center of the house.

He stopped at the kitchen island, leaning back against it, hands behind him on the counter, pulling his shirt tight across his chest. "I designed an open floor plan and stairway. I mostly eat at the bar, and use the dining room up front when Mother and Father join me. I wanted the kitchen and living area to look out on the back yard." Malfoy pushed off the island and made for the cupboards across the kitchen. His shorts hugged his bum as she trailed behind him, and the heat between her legs grew hotter. He caught her gaze again. "Can I get you a glass of wine or some firewhiskey?"

Hermione's face felt flushed, her nervous system on overdrive, and she was having trouble keeping her eyes off his body. She definitely didn't need firewhiskey in her current state. "Wine sounds lovely, thanks."

He rifled through the cupboard. "Pinot noir sound good?" She nodded yes, and he popped open a bottle and poured two glasses. He handed her the goblet and held his own up for a toast. "To new neighbors," he said, touching her goblet with a clink. He gazed at her with a hard glint in his eye, and she felt an overwhelming urge to snog him senseless in his kitchen. Hermione pushed the urge away and raised the glass to her lips, hoping the wine would wash some sense into her overloaded system.

Malfoy took a sip, then set his glass down and walked to the patio doors. His eyes lit up as he looked back at her. "Let me show you the back shed. I know Quidditch isn’t your thing, but I think you'll be impressed with the magic!"

They crossed the backyard, and he let her enter the shed first, hand grazing the small of her back as she crossed the threshold, but otherwise kept his hands to himself as he waved his wand into the room. The shed magically expanded into a half Quidditch pitch, and she exclaimed appreciatively at this fantastical bit of magic that allowed him to practice Quidditch in the middle of urban London. He explained the magic behind the expansion spell, and then returned the pitch to its original shed size.

They walked side by side back to the house, Malfoy telling a story about the office renovation that she only half paid attention to as she tried to stem the rising tide of excitement and anxiety gathering in her chest. She almost convinced herself she had imagined his lips on her neck at the doorway, that it was all in her head, and this was an innocent house tour and drinks between friends. Once inside the house, she began to walk back toward the kitchen, thinking the tour was over. The background warning bells began to subside in relief, while the heat building between her legs made its disappointment known.

"Wait," Malfoy said, touching her arm. "Let me show you upstairs." The heat between Hermione's legs flared, but she hesitated. He moved closer, pinning her with his stare, and her insides melted again. He said softly, "You should see the whole house. I want to show it off." 

Gulping, she nodded, "Okay," and followed him up the stairs. He showed her the guest bedroom where his mother had stayed, which had a large four-poster bed and some beautiful artwork, and Scorpius' bedroom for when he was home from Hogwarts. Then he took her to the master bedroom, and gestured at the front bedroom window. She looked at her house across the street, her large picture windows looking small and obscure from this view. 

He chuckled, "So this is the window you can see?"

An embarrassed smile crossed her face. "Yes." 

He stepped closer and began unbuttoning his shirt. She stepped back, eyes wide. He wasn't really going to do this, was he? Remembering that touch of his lips at the front door, the one she almost convinced herself she imagined, indicated yes, he was. Suddenly she was staring at his chest, the chest she had dreamed about for the past week, ever since he had walked out on his porch wearing that tight shirt that made it oh, so difficult to focus on his face, his words, or anything besides his body and his eyes. Here she was with that chest bared in front of her, bulging in all the right places, as smooth and beautiful as in her imagination, his sectumsempra scar barely visible against his pale skin. His veins were gently marked over his biceps, a gentle washboard down low with just the right amount of flesh on top, and divots to the side that disappeared into his waistband and sent her pulse racing. She swallowed, hands itching to touch him, noticing his dark mark was either glamored or removed.

He raised his arms to the side, indicating the view of him before her. "Does this fill in the missing detail?"

She noticed his shorts tenting ever so slightly, which gave her courage, along with the lingering memory of his lips on her neck and hand on her hip. "Some of it," she breathed. Then louder, "Half of it's still missing though,” she smirked.

His eyebrows rose high, processing her words. He clearly didn't realize she saw him fully nude. He looked out at her house, appearing to think, then pulled the bedroom curtains closed. He walked over to her and shimmied out of his shorts and boxers. She had a brief moment in her surprise to process the beauty of his erect member and rock hard thighs before his lips were on hers, his hands pulling her hips toward him. Fire spread through her body, erupting between her legs. The warning bells in her head turned into full sirens, but the fire overpowered them, and she kissed him back. This was not a soft comfortable gentle kiss; it was aggressive, belying the fire he must be feeling too, hot and searing and stoking.

His hands slid to the hem of her shirt, and she found the strength to pull away. Looking into those mesmerizing eyes, she murmured, "Not in your bedroom. I can't do this here." 

Heavy guilt washed over her thinking of Astoria, dead from a blood curse, and herself, only two months divorced, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the stairs, not willing to leave until the heat between her legs was doused. "My fantasies mostly have us on your sofa and rug. I expected the sofa to be modern and the rug to be shag, but the ones you have will do."

Malfoy stopped in the bedroom doorway, bringing Hermione up short. His brows raised eagerly. 

"You've had fantasies?" he asked in wonder.

"Oh yes." She ran her fingers down his chest, reveling at the feel of his smooth skin and muscles she had fantasized about for the past week. Then she tugged him toward the stairs, not willing to touch his body further until she was safely out of the realm of the master bedroom. She knew neither of them was married anymore but still felt the room carried too much weight, too much seriousness, for her to enjoy him there.

-o~0~o-

They made it halfway to the sofa, and he pulled her to him. Malfoy was no longer smiling, and fire burned behind his eyes. Hermione's body went liquid under his gaze. _This was what books meant by smoldering. And I’m on the receiving end of it from this divinely formed man._ In a fluid motion, he pulled her top over her head and dropped it to the floor, briefly admiring her slim waist and black lace strapless bra, then bent down and kissed her neck and collarbone, his strong hands encircling her waist. She moaned, lacing her fingers into his short hair.

She moved her hands to his finely muscled upper back, while his mouth continued to minister to her neck and décolletage. She felt his muscles contract under her fingers as he moved his arms around her to unclasp her bra. Malfoy dropped the bra on the floor then hungrily gazed at her small pert breasts, rubbing his thumbs over the firm nubs of her nipples, sending small tremors directly from his fingers to her inner core. She could feel the wetness down there, slippery and hot. She traced her hands over his muscled chest and stomach, fingers tingling at the touch. 

"You're beautiful," he murmured. 

Hermione pulled her skirt down, unable to bear her clothing between them any longer. He bent low, sliding his hands down to the smooth black satin on her bum, kneading as he went, and took one nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around and nipping before he released her. _Oh god_. She moaned, and her legs started shaking; she backed up until she hit the sofa.

"What exactly do your fantasies on my sofa and rug involve?" Malfoy asked gutturally, his mouth making its way to her other breast.

Hermione moaned again, stuttering, "You, sitting on the sofa, leaning back, and me, riding you with your hands all over me."

He made a low noise in his throat and moved his mouth lower, kneeling, as his tongue made its way from her breasts down her stomach. She carded her fingers through his hair, breath hitching.

"And what about the rug?" he asked, his hot breath hovering at the top of her knickers, his hands still kneading her bum through the satin. 

Hermione felt the wetness start to drip out of her and summoned the willpower to not grind into his face. "Me on all fours and you pounding into me from behind," she breathed. 

Malfoy's hands tightened on her bum for a moment, before he swiftly pulled her knickers down and lowered his head to taste her. He groaned, hands squeezing her bum while his tongue and the vibrations from his groans sent frissons of pleasure into her core and up into her ribcage. She felt exposed yet so free. Malfoy clearly wanted her, and it made her feel alive and desirable. She didn't remember ever feeling this way with Ron, not even in the beginning. Her fingers threaded through Malfoy's hair, and she wanted more of him, his skin under her hands, his body against hers.

His tongue, his lips… they wove a tapestry of sensation around and in her, while his hands firmly held onto her backside. Hermione's legs started shaking, and she pulled away, unable to stand and wanting to feel more of him against her. 

"I want you..." she breathed. 

He tugged her down to meet him on the floor, and leaned in to kiss her, tangling his fingers in her hair and pushing her down on the rug underneath him. She gripped her fingers into his back - god, his back muscles were rippling and strong - and she ground into his body on top of her, feeling the length of his hardness pressed into her stomach and making her want him inside her.

He broke the kiss and trailed back down, over her breasts, down her stomach, his strong hands tracing her skin as he went. He dove back to her core, the feeling of his tongue lighting her up as she arched against him for more. He spread her legs wide, pushing her knees up to her chest so she was on full display in front of him. Hermione fought the instinct to close her legs and hide from his view, and tried to revel in the fact that Malfoy wanted to see her like this. He looked up at her from between her legs, his gray eyes locking with hers in a gaze that made her high from desire, and the lust she saw there made her feel like nothing else existed. She relaxed then and continued to open up. "More," she pleaded.

He slowly put his thumb in his mouth, then shifted his eyes back to her folds, withdrew his thumb and rubbed it against her clit. Hermione moaned, and a low groan escaped him before he sucked on her clit, hard, and thrust several fingers inside her, making her writhe below him. 

"You're so wet and beautiful," Malfoy said softly. Sucking, licking, his fingers going in and out, her moans became louder and faster, until she finally felt her release. She yelled, arching against his mouth and fingers, and the sensations of an earth-shattering orgasm flooded through her body.

When her last tremors subsided, he looked up at her and smiled, and inched his way back up her body, skin on skin. She could feel his hardness smoothly gliding up her leg toward her core, making her want him even more. 

"Oh my god," she mumbled, "That was mind-blowing."

Malfoy grinned and said softly, his hardness pushing against her folds, "I could tell." Then he pushed into her, sinking in deep, and caught her up again in his eyes as he did so. Her mouth fell open and her eyes fluttered closed, the feeling of him inside her bringing her desire to new levels.

Hermione was so wet, and he was so hard, and as he started sliding in and out, he shifted to the side a little so he could bring his hand in between them and rub her clit as he thrust. She jumped, she was so sensitive there; she could tell a second orgasm was very close. His eyes widened, questioning whether he should move his fingers away; she shook her head and ground against him. She peppered kisses against his shoulder and neck, grasping at his back with her hands. Malfoy kept thrusting and rubbing, and she quickly hit her second climax, biting at his shoulder with her teeth as she did and letting out an explosive groan of pleasure as the waves rippled through her again.

She sped up her rhythm against him, urging him to thrust faster, grinding out the last of her orgasm. Then he grunted, slid out of her quickly, and flipped her over onto her stomach, pulling her up on all fours. He knelt behind her and grasped her hips, and she pushed her bum back against him.

"Let's fulfill that fantasy on my rug," Malfoy plunged into her from behind. He began a punishing pace that felt oh, so good. He felt amazing, pounding into her, and nothing else existed at that moment except the feeling of him inside her. She gasped and moaned with each thrust, close to screaming. 

"Touch yourself," he panted, "I want you to come again and feel your wetness all over my cock when I come." She did as he commanded; her clit was so wet, and his movements so strong, she could barely keep her fingers on their intended target. She rubbed herself while he thrust into her, both of them gasping and groaning from the sensations.

Malfoy began to move even faster, and she pulled her hand away from herself, back to the ground to brace against him. She was aware of nothing but the sensation of him thrusting against her, filling her up to completion. He made several last erratic thrusts, shuddered, and yelled as he came, his hands vice-like on her hips. Then he went silent, panting, slowly moving back and forth inside her, riding out the last waves of his orgasm. He made a low noise in his throat, and gently eased the two of them down to the floor, still inside her, and pulled them onto their sides, spooning Hermione on the rug. He brushed her hair to the side, kissing her neck gently, then snaked his arm around her front, cupping one breast in his hand, and supporting both of their heads with his arm. She laced her fingers over his, and closed her eyes, exhausted and content.

-o~0~o-

After several minutes, they pulled apart. Malfoy placed gentle kisses on her shoulder, trailing his fingers over her hip as he did so. Hermione lay relaxed with him for a few minutes more, then gathered up her clothes, cast a quick contraceptive charm, and stood to go to the bathroom. Malfoy stood up next to her, nude and god-like, and pulled her into an embrace, his lips on hers, aggressively seeking entrance with his tongue. Her breasts pressed against his chest, feeling the hardness of his muscles against them, and she felt the rock-hard strength of his embrace around her. After a minute, she pulled away, breathing heavily, and leaned her forehead against his chest.

"I'd love to keep kissing you all evening," she murmured. "But I should clean up and get dressed." He squeezed her bum and bent to kiss her neck as he released her. He summoned his clothes from upstairs as Hermione walked to the bathroom. When she returned, he was sitting, clothed, on the couch. Malfoy stood and came over to her, stopping her against the kitchen island. He pinned his arms around her, diving in for a quick kiss, then pulled his head back and captured her with his gaze. 

"Before you leave… You said most of your fantasies were on the sofa and rug. There are others?"

"Mm-hmmm," she affirmed.

Malfoy's gaze never faltered. "Where do those take place?"

"One..." She let out a small moan as he bent down to kiss her neck again. "...is in your bedroom."

He nipped her neck with his teeth, not hard enough to leave a mark. "What are we doing in that one?"

"You're standing nude in front of your bedroom window..." Hermione moaned again, as his fingers began to work their way under her shirt, grazing against her stomach. "...and I'm kneeling in front of you, sucking you off."

"Oh god," he groaned, shifting his hand out of the way and pressing against her. He was already hard again. She felt her core start buzzing.

"I'm not letting you out of here..." he growled into her neck, "until you bring that fantasy...” he ground his hips against her, "...to life."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, smiling. She looked deep into his eyes while she reached down and rubbed her hand against him through his shorts. "You like that, huh?" she asked.

Malfoy pushed his hips into her hand, keeping his arms on the island to each side of her. He smiled broadly and replied, "I do, a lot." 

He dove to her neck, kissing and sucking at her skin, growling lowly, and began pulling her shirt back up. He moved away from her neck long enough to pull her shirt over her head and unclasp her bra again, then moved back in and took each breast in his mouth in turn, biting at her and making her moan loudly. He straightened and smiled eagerly, then picked Hermione up, wrapping her legs around his waist. Clearly her fantasy had him excited and playful. He supported her in his arms and turned to the stairs. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and traced her tongue around his ear and down his jaw while he carried her up. 

_I can do this_ , she thought. _The master bedroom will be okay, there are no memories of Astoria or Ron in this room, it's new to both of us._

When they reached his room, Malfoy lay her down on the bed, leaning over her and trailing his mouth down her breasts and stomach until he reached the top of her skirt. He pulled it off her, along with her knickers, and then took off his own clothes. Hermione sat up, stroking her fingers down Malfoy's chest and belly, encircled his beautifully straight and engorged member with her hands, feeling its silkiness, then traced her hands back up to his muscled shoulders, and knelt up to kiss him. His tongue sent fire into her core again, and they kissed fervently, hands roaming everywhere. He eventually pulled back and walked to the window.

Gesturing at the curtains, he asked, "Curtains closed or open?"

She smiled. "That's up to you." She shifted on the bed. "In my fantasy, they’re open, and you're standing in front of the window facing the street, while I'm kneeling in front of you."

He turned away from her and pulled the curtains open, standing nude for the street to see, had anyone been looking. Hermione wondered if any neighbors were home. She moved over to him, tracking her hand along his tight bum and down between his legs as she walked around him. She looked up at him, his eager smile playing on his lips, and she ran her thumb across his lower lip. He opened his mouth and sucked her thumb in, eyes intent on hers as he swirled his tongue around her thumb. She shuddered briefly, then withdrew her thumb and brought it into her own mouth, sucking on it sensually. His eyes widened. She smiled, then broke his gaze and knelt down in front of him. 

"Lean forward and put your hands on either side of the window," she ordered gently. He did. He looked just like her fantasies, elevating her pulse and making her aware of the wetness between her legs.

Hermione trailed her tongue along Malfoy's stomach, then slid her tongue around his head, so soft and silky against her taste buds. She settled between his legs and licked slowly down to his base and back up, taking his head into her mouth and sucking gently, making him moan, her hand around his base. She licked down the front of his shaft, to his belly, and slid back up, again taking his head into her mouth and sucking. She swirled her tongue around the top, then took him slowly, gently, farther into her mouth, wetting his shaft and enjoying the feel of his cock filling her mouth.

She established a slow and sensual rhythm of up and down, in and out, sometimes licking down his shaft, sometimes taking him fully in her mouth, sometimes sucking as she slid up, and sometimes taking him fully almost to his base, suppressing her gag instinct as she did so. Malfoy moaned when she took him all the way in, and laced his fingers through her hair as she moved up and down on him. Her hands stroked his base and his balls, and she continued to move in the same rhythm as she heard his breath come quicker and his thighs and core increase in tension.

It didn't take long before Hermione felt him start to shudder erratically, and she took him as fully in her mouth as she could and stayed there, applying pressure. Malfoy groaned loudly as he came in her mouth and quivered as she swallowed it down, the movement of her tongue heightening his sensation. He tightened his fingers in her hair, and when he was finished, she slowly slid her mouth off of him, making him tremble as she did so. He stood braced against the window, panting, eyes heavy lidded and half closed. Hermione smiled, looking up at him, and ran her hands along his remarkable thighs, not quite believing that this god-like body was hers to play with for the time being.

Malfoy laced his fingers in her hair and tugged a little, motioning for her to stand up next to him. He kissed her, his tongue plundering her mouth, and staggered back to the bed with Hermione wrapped in his embrace. They pulled apart and he flopped down onto the bed, a loud breath escaping him. "Fuck," he said. She looked at him questioningly, and he pulled her down on top of him, her breasts pressing against his chest beneath her.

"That was amazing," he replied. "What'd you say earlier? Mind-blowing. That was mind-blowing." She peppered kisses into his neck and shoulders while he lay there, spent. "Did Ron get this treatment?"

She felt a knife in her side at the mention of Ron, but tried to push it away. "In the beginning," she replied. "But no, not for a long time now."

"Lucky guy he was in the beginning," he murmured. She didn't want to be reminded of Ron or Astoria, so she didn't ask him to elaborate.

She pulled her head back from his neck, looking at him. Malfoy looked back lazily, then pulled her into his side, her head tucked into his neck. They lay there, not moving or speaking for some time. Hermione finally shifted, saying, "I should go."

Malfoy nodded against her head, and fondled her breast gently. Hermione didn't really want to leave. She wanted to stay by his side, intoxicated by his nearness, by every part of him she had seen and touched. But something inside her didn't know if she was ready for that kind of happiness yet. Her divorce was so new, so raw still, and she didn't want Malfoy to be simply a one-night stand. They had a shared history, and they were neighbors, and Hermione wanted to explore more with him. But she wasn't ready yet. She took a deep breath, trying to motivate herself to move, and sat up. She moved to gather her knickers and skirt, while he lazily traced his fingers against her back. She stood to put them on, and he slowly gathered his own clothes and dressed. Malfoy pulled her into another embrace at the door, and they made their way down the stairs together to retrieve the rest of her clothes.

He nuzzled her against the kitchen island once more after she finished dressing, hugging her tightly this time as he did so. She sighed, and ran her fingers over his cheekbones and jaw as he pulled back from her. He grabbed her hand and placed her fingers against his lips, kissing them, and let go. 

He walked her to the door, his hand gently, familiarly, touching her backside as she stopped in the doorway. She turned around and said, "I'll see you later, Draco." They smiled lightly at each other, gazes locked, and then she turned and walked across the street to her house, his eyes watching her go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art shows Hermione's house on Montague Rd (the wisteria! it's really there on Google maps!); Richmond Park and the chocolate shop mentioned in Ch 3; and the restaurant from Ch 6. All real places in Richmond, UK, which I've only visited via the internet. :) I've just joined tumblr, follow me at elizcoll1035 for story updates and alternate cover art, and Pinterest at the same handle for image boards. 


	2. Reflections (Amber Energy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow up note on this chapter: Now that I've posted ten chapters of this story and have an alpha, a beta, and more experience under my belt, I feel this chapter is a bit lacking in action compared to the other chapters in the story. It introduces our characters more, since Chapter 1 mostly focused on how much they enjoyed shagging each other. I've tightened the chapter up since its original posting, and it's a short chapter, but if you find it a bit slow after Chapter 1's action, please hang in there. Every remaining chapter is plot- and action-filled.

Draco rounded the bend, breathing heavily, and slowed his run to a jog. It was sticky this morning, but the humidity couldn't dampen the beauty and peace of Richmond Park's landscape. The park was a primary reason he had chosen to move to Richmond upon Thames. Its natural beauty made him forget he was nearly in the center of London, and he was relying on it to soothe his soul when the loneliness crept in and his longing for Astoria's presence felt tangible. It had been nearly two years since she passed. The grief hadn't gotten easier, he had just gotten better at living with it.

He stepped through the park's gate onto Cambrian Road and wiped the damp from his forehead. Green buds had popped out onto the urban landscape of the surrounding row homes, and he felt light this morning, lighter than he had felt in years—fresh and new, like spring. He suspected this had largely to do with his unexpected and very enjoyable encounter with Hermione Granger last night.

When she had first shown up on his porch a week ago, his heart had hitched at the sight of her. He had been confused—what was Granger doing on his porch?—but a thrill had trembled briefly through his nervous system. They hadn't interacted much since the war, but he admired her achievements and, even more, the compassion and kindness she showed everyone around her, including him, during their brief interactions over the years.

He would always be deeply ashamed of his past actions, but when he looked at her, he felt inspiration rather than shame. No matter how cruel his world had been to her, she had helped Wizardkind overcome it; watching the light she shone into the world made him strive to be a better person. Draco couldn't have voiced these thoughts in words, but they were there, bubbling under the surface, like salt giving buoyance in the ocean water.

That Hermione Granger, of all people, could not only forgive him for his past but also share herself with him intimately—well, being with her last night had felt like redemption. He pressed back against a rough brick wall, letting a woman with a stroller pass on the narrow walk. His jog slowed to a steady stroll as he turned onto Montague, his breaths coming longer and his steps more prolonged on the pavement.

He had been flabbergasted when she mentioned her divorce. It wasn't in the news yet; they were keeping it quiet, trying to stave off the gossip until Hogwarts was out for the summer. The Granger-Weasleys were a foundation of the new order in the wizarding world, and he felt a bit unmoored hearing of their split.

As they had continued to chat, he found himself drawn to her, and he had tried to lift the slight melancholy he saw around her eyes and in her movements. Her smiles grew wider and her eyes livelier over the course of their chat, and if he wasn't mistaken, her eyes had trailed down his body several times while they talked. He had ended up inviting her for a drink and a tour of his renovations a week hence, and now, the morning after his home tour had turned into so much more, he was in high spirits from their evening together.

As Draco approached his house, he glanced at Granger's home across the road, and impulsively turned toward her door rather than his own. She had left seeming a bit spooked last night, and he wanted to check on her. Maybe propose spending time together in a place that wouldn't end up with his head between her legs again—a walk or a picnic in the park.

His knuckles rapped firmly on her worn oak door. When it became clear she wasn't home, he accio'd a leaf from the wisteria plant on her front gate and transfigured it into a piece of parchment. Drawing his wand across the page, he inscribed an invitation.

_Hermione,_

_I stopped by to say hi. Would you like to join me for a walk or picnic in the park tomorrow, or one evening this week? I'm free till Thursday, when I leave for France for a few days. Hope your day's been pleasant._

_Yours,_

_Draco_

He directed the transfigured parchment under her door and, using a locator spell, sent it to her kitchen counter. Pausing to breathe in the early fragrance of the newly budding wisteria on her gate, Draco walked back to his house and headed up the stairs to his shower, eager to shed his sticky clothes and wash the salty sweat off his body.

* * *

That night, Draco stepped through the floo into his living room, shedding his jumper on the nearest chair. He rummaged through the liquor cabinet and poured a small shot of Glendalough over ice for a nightcap; it always helped take the edge off the crushing loneliness he felt upon returning to an empty house after a night out with his friends.

Sinking into a leather chair by the fireplace, he sipped the whiskey and glanced over at Granger's house, its windows dark. He realized his typical loneliness had eased slightly, a hint of hope creeping in to fill its place. He was looking forward to spending more time with her. He wondered if she'd gotten his note, and if so, why she hadn't responded. Was she so spooked that she didn't want to answer his invitation?

None of his mental scenarios had included her not responding, and he started to panic slightly, wondering if he'd overstepped by inviting her out, or worse and more probably, overstepped by boldly making a move on her last night in the first place. Was she regretting their time together?

Before his thoughts could spiral, he saw a pale flash of green in her window—must be her floo—and then a few moments later, a light turned on, too far from the window for him to make out any movement. Perhaps she had been gone all day and was just getting home and seeing his note for the first time.

Resolving that he wouldn't visually stalk her through her windows, he pressed his feet into the floor and stood, stretching his back and deciding it was time for bed. He would check on Granger in the morning. They were grown adults, and they had treated each other respectfully last night. If he had overstepped, he would apologize and fix it.

* * *

Hermione shed her shoes by the fireplace, glad to be home after a very long day, some of which had tried her patience more than she would have liked. She had met Harry, Ginny, and Ron at the Burrow early this morning to work on building a new regulation-size Quidditch pitch where the kids could practice during the holidays, and more importantly, Harry, Ron, and Ginny could host games for the new recreational adult Quidditch league they had formed.

Hermione wasn't entirely sure how she had let herself get roped into it—she didn't even like Quidditch—but she had, and it meant spending much of the day with Ron, which she would have preferred to avoid. Especially after last night with Malfoy. Which she had been simultaneously avoiding thinking about and constantly thinking about. Every time she felt a butterfly in her stomach at the memory of some touch of his fingers or skin, she would push it down and force her thoughts to the current task or conversation.

It was exhausting, but she was also grateful for the distraction of their project, because she was unsure how she felt about last night. She had enjoyed it, yes. A lot. But she also felt scared, and slightly guilty, and a bit overwhelmed, and she wasn't ready to examine her feelings. So she had continued to keep her thoughts of Draco at bay as much as possible and tried to enjoy her day with Harry and Ginny, even if Ron's presence had her slightly on edge.

She had freshened up at the Burrow rather than returning home before her dinner plans, the Quidditch project taking much longer than she had expected. She had showered off the grime with a water-less shower spell and transfigured her work clothes into a simple burgundy dress and jean jacket. Then she had met Katie Bell for dinner and a drink, and there, she had spilled the beans on Malfoy being her new neighbor.

"How is he doing?" Katie asked, her face softening in sympathy at Astoria's loss.

"He seems well," Hermione responded, thinking back to their initial conversation on his porch a week ago. "He said he needed a change; the Manor reminded him too much of Astoria, and it was too big with just him there with his parents."

Katie grimaced. "That's so sad. I didn't really know Astoria, but she seemed like a nice woman, and no one deserves to die so young from a blood curse."

"I know," Hermione mused, gazing blindly at a group of people entering the pub. "But he seemed well overall. A lot of smiling and laughing while we talked." Hermione glanced back at Katie, a smile hovering at the corners of her lips. Then she dropped her voice, "I told him about Ron and me. I told him we were keeping it quiet, to keep the gossip at bay until the end of the school year."

Katie raised her eyebrows in questioning surprise.

"Well, I felt like I needed to tell him: we're neighbors now—it's not like he wouldn't find out quickly. And everyone will know soon anyway." Hermione's eyes drooped at this statement. Sometimes the reality of her divorce hit harder than others. Her insides felt dark and hollow thinking about the whole of the wizarding world knowing about their divorce.

Katie reached over and rubbed her hand. "It's okay, Hermione. I wasn't judging you for telling him. I was just surprised because I know you like your privacy, and it's not like you and Malfoy are friends."

At this, Hermione's butterflies returned, and she immediately flashed back to last night. Yes, they were not friends, because friends didn't have sex all over the house; her cheeks flushed from the mere thought of their evening together.

Katie's voice broke into her mental replay. "Hermione?" Katie looked at Hermione suspiciously. "You were just looking miserable about your divorce, and now you look like the cat that got the cream."

Hermione stared at her and, belatedly, responded with a shake of her head. "I'm not miserable. You know I'm glad Ron and I split. Yes, I get sad about it; I mean, we did spend over 20 years together, and that's all down the drain now But I'm not miserable. I'm just not looking forward to when the rest of the world knows, and it shows up in the gossip pages."

Katie's suspicious look remained. "Okay, you're not miserable about your divorce; I get it. But when I said 'it's not like you and Malfoy are friends,' your face went all…" Katie paused and her eyebrows rose. "…dreamy." She leaned forward toward Hermione across the table. "Did you… Is something going on between you and Malfoy?"

Hermione felt blood rush to her cheeks. Katie was one of her oldest and best friends, and if she could share her encounter with Malfoy with anyone, it would be Katie. But she had hoped to keep this to herself a little longer. At least see if it led to anything before sharing it with anyone. Hermione giggled nervously, which made Katie's mouth twitch, suppressing a laugh.

"Well," Hermione began, gripping her wine glass tightly. "We chatted for quite awhile on his porch when I first went over to say hi…"

Katie nodded her to go on.

"And he looked really nice in his fitted shirt and jeans… And his eyes, Merlin, his eyes are so intense…" At this, Hermione actually fanned herself with her hand, and Katie exploded with laughter.

"So are you telling me that Malfoy had you creaming your knickers when you welcomed him to the block?"

"Yes!" Hermione whisper-shouted. It felt good to have it out in the open with Katie. At least she could just enjoy the good in it with Katie, and not dwell on the fear that lay underneath.

"So then what?" Katie asked. "You look much too hot and bothered for just a simple conversation on his porch a week ago. What else happened?"

Leaning her elbows onto the table, Hermione said quietly, "He asked me over for a drink and a house tour last night, and, it was really nice…" She couldn't quite get the words out, while a questioning smile crept across Katie's face. "We shagged," she rushed out. "It was... unexpected and absolutely spectacular.

Katie burst out laughing in surprise; thankfully the pub was loud enough that their neighbors didn't notice or look at them in question. Hermione drew enough attention when she went out, and she did not need anything about her and Malfoy leaking out and turning into rumors to be bandied about.

"Katie, please don't say anything to anyone, I don't know if this will go anywhere. I want to respect Malfoy's privacy too. And I don't even know how I feel about it – half of me feels guilty and scared and like I shouldn't be with anyone right now, much less Malfoy, who's _Malfoy_ for Merlin's sake, and whose wife just died."

"Well, she didn't just die, Hermione. It's been a couple of years." Katie glanced around at the other tables and then back at Hermione. "I'm sure Malfoy is grieving, but it's also perfectly acceptable for him to be showing interest in other women at this point. I know I've seen gossip pages about a few dates he's been on since her death, so you wouldn't be the first woman showing up with him if rumors do get out."

Hermione frowned at her, and Katie held up her hands. "I understand, Hermione, I won't say anything to anyone. I just don't want you feeling guilty because you feel like he should still be faithful to Astoria or something."

Hermione's face softened. "Thank you, Katie."

Leaning forward again, Katie said gently, "I'm glad to see a real smile on your face, even if it's because of Malfoy. But if he screws you over, I'm returning his curse from our sixth year - but I won't fail like he did."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Katie, we're not even dating! We just spent a few hours together!"

Katie shrugged. "Well, if you do start dating and he acts like a dick, just know I've got your back. Okay?"

"Okay, Katie," Hermione grinned. "I appreciate that."

They had spent the rest of the evening talking about Katie's upcoming vacation and debating who would be appointed the new deputy head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, where Katie and Hermione had become friends long ago.

Now that Hermione was home, she noticed a sheet of parchment in the middle of her breakfast bar. Picking it up, her fingertips traced over Draco's written invitation for a walk and picnic, and a large smile crept across her face. He wanted to spend time with her, talking to her, and not just shagging.

It was too late to respond now, though she quickly glanced at his house across the way, looking for lights in the windows. A warm glow shined through the curtains upstairs, and her insides clenched, thinking of him undressed between his sheets.

She briefly longed to be next to him, instead of going to her own bed, alone. Sleeping alone at night was one of the hardest things since her divorce. She missed Ron's presence, or more accurately, a human presence when she went to bed. Having someone in bed next to you meant you had someone there who would back you up when things were rough, support you when you needed help standing on your own, someone to love you just because. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she took a deep breath, willing them away.

She climbed into her sheets, looking forward to accepting his invitation tomorrow morning. She looked up at her curtains. He was there, just there across the street, not even 100 feet away, with only two sets of brick walls separating them. She grabbed her wand and drew it in a circle in front of her, murmuring _Affectio_. She continued to draw small circles as amber light emitted from her wand tip, and she crafted a small globe from the light, like a ball of yarn made of light threads.

She summoned the globe to her, the amber energy hovering over her open palms. She then gently urged the glowing globe toward her window, where it disappeared through her curtains and out into the night on its path to the house across the way. She turned out her light and whispered, "Sweet dreams, Draco," and then snuggled into her pillow, her thoughts of tomorrow keeping her company in her otherwise empty bed.

* * *

Draco's eyes felt heavy, and he closed his book, innovative potions no longer more interesting than sleep. Turning off his lamp, a movement by the curtains caught his eye. A dim amber globe drifted toward him and stopped, hovering in front of him. He held out his hands, where it settled momentarily. It then unraveled and flashed into him, its gentle magic carrying Hermione's affection through him with warmth and insistence. He went to sleep dreaming of seeing her soon, and happier than he had felt in a long time.

* * *

_A/N: For those who pay attention to timeline, we're in April of 2021 right now. Scorpius and Rose are in Year 4 and Hugo is in Year 1. Astoria died almost 2 years ago._


	3. The Picnic (Strawberry Cream)

Hermione knocked on Draco's door Sunday morning and waited on his front step for him to answer, her mug of tea warming her hands against the brisk spring early morning. When he opened the door, her stomach dropped pleasantly at the sight of him standing there, fit and gorgeous, in his gray gym shorts and… a tight black Manchester United shirt? She laughed out loud, and pointed at his chest. "Manchester United? I wouldn't have pegged you as a Muggle football fan!" _But he looks delicious poured into that tight shirt_.

Draco looked down at his chest, and then back up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, Theo gave it to me as a 40th birthday "gift" last year." He made air quotes with his free hand. "He thought 'Not arrogant, just better' was fitting for my arsehole self, he said." Draco grinned. "I don't wear it out, no need to state the obvious," and he winked at her, "but you caught me by surprise." He stepped back into his entry and gestured into the house. "Would you like to come in?"

Hermione hesitated, and remained on the front step. "Um, no… thanks; I have some things to tend to this morning. I just wanted to come by about your invitation." She smiled at him, feeling suddenly shy. "I'd love to join you for a picnic today, that sounds nice."

Draco's face broke into a brilliant smile, and Hermione felt warmth flood through her, both at his beauty, _Merlin, this man was gorgeous_ , and because she hoped his smile was due to spending time with her. Her pulse started racing again. "Fantastic," he said. "Noon?"

"Sounds good; it's a date!" She flashed him a wide smile and stepped back to leave.

"Hang on," he said softly, stepping toward her through his doorway. He looked at her intently, his gray eyes piercing hers, crinkles at the corners from his wide smile, and his fingers grazed the sleeve of her jumper as he drew himself toward her. He looked at her for permission as he bent down, clearly intent on kissing her if she'd let him. She felt a flood of heat rush to her center, and she closed the distance between them, leaning up into his kiss.

His lips were soft against hers, and soon his tongue sought entry toward her own. Butterflies rioted in her stomach at his nearness and at the feel of him, and she set her mug down on the porch railing, then stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him and grasping his bum through his gym shorts. His scent was intoxicating, a mix of masculine-smelling soap and shampoo. He pressed closer to her and deepened the kiss, entwining his fingers in her hair and grasping her backside through her leggings with his other hand. She moaned as he pulled her closer, and he pressed his now-hard cock against her belly.

Too soon, they both pulled back, breathing heavily. Hermione's cheeks were flushed, as were Draco's. He ran his fingers down the side of her face. "I don't want to keep you from your morning. I'll see you soon."

Hermione felt his eyes on her as she walked back to her house, and she tried to calm the butterflies still rioting inside. _Galloping gargoyles, that man knows how to turn me on_. She second guessed whether she should have declined his offer to come inside, because right now her body wanted much more than their groping kiss on his front step. She stepped through her door, flustered and flushed, and headed upstairs to the shower to cool off.

* * *

The picnic basket floated in front of them, under a concealment charm, while they traipsed up a path in Richmond Park. They passed several joggers as they walked through a field of ferns, the midday sun illuminating a brilliant blue sky. Soon they reached a small ridge and stopped under a tree, slightly hidden from the main path.

Draco lowered the picnic basket and opened it with a wave of his wand. A purple and blue striped blanket drifted out and settled gently on the ground, followed by more containers of food than could have possibly fit in such a small basket – _must be an undetectable extension charm_ – and a jug of pumpkin juice. Hermione laughed at the size of the spread, and Draco turned to her with questioning eyes.

"Do you have friends coming to join us, Draco?" Hermione gestured toward the food. "We're not going to make a dent in that!"

Draco stepped closer and drew her toward him as he looked down at her. "Mickey wanted to make sure we're well fed, and I promise you, you'll want a bite of everything; he's an excellent cook."

Hermione toyed with his belt loops as she gazed at Draco's lips. "Who's Mickey?"

"My house elf," Draco responded, bending closer to her face.

"I didn't know you had a house elf." Hermione brought her hands up, palming his chest as his lips inched closer to hers. "Do you…" She paused. _Not now, Hermione. He's about to kiss you, just leave it alone. You want to kiss him again, not grill him about his elf._ "Do you pay Mickey for his services?" she rushed out.

Draco's lips paused their movement toward hers, hovering mere inches away. "No," he said matter-of-factly. "I don't."

Hermione tensed in his hold, and Draco gripped her hips more firmly. "He's been in my family since I was 12 years old. I know you knew Dobby, and Dobby's account of working at the Manor was not good." Hermione grimaced, and Draco continued, "But Dobby was unusual. Most elves like serving their families, and I treat Mickey well. It would be an affront to him if I were to offer to pay him."

Hermione started to protest, and Draco brought his hands up to cup her face between them. "Hermione, I'm happy to debate the merits of house elf pay with you, and I'll listen to you with an open mind. But right now, I really want to kiss you, and not talk about elves." He brushed her lower lip with his thumb. "Can I do that?"

Her eyes flashed briefly in internal struggle, before she melted into him and closed the distance, her lips grazing his and opening softly for him in answer.

After a heated snog and some roaming hands, they broke apart and settled on the blanket, Draco pulling her into his lap with a grin. She let out a yelp and giggled, squirming as he pulled her back to his chest and wrapped his arms around her waist. He moved her hair to the side and began pressing sensual kisses along her neck, while his hands stroked down the smooth skin of her legs past her shorts.

Gripping his firm thighs, Hermione sank into his embrace. Her desire flared to life, and she felt herself growing damp in her knickers. She wasn't sure why or how Draco Malfoy reduced her to such a quivering puddle of sexual need, but he did, and right now all she wanted to do was turn around and pull his clothes off.

He clearly felt something similar, as his hands crept under her shorts, seeking out the heat between her legs. In her current position, her shorts were too tightly wrapped around her thighs for his fingers to make much progress. He shifted and brought his hand to the outside of the fabric, caressing her core through her shorts, while his lips continued sucking, licking, and kissing along her neck. She moaned and started gently dry humping his hand, leaning her head back against his shoulder, opening up more of her neck to him.

She felt like a silly teenager, humping on a blanket in the park, but her embarrassment wasn't strong enough to stop their actions, which felt so good. No one could easily see them, she thought; they were somewhat hidden in the shade behind a tree, and their backs were to the main walking path.

Draco traced his tongue along her ear, sending shivers through her, and she pressed harder against his fingers. In her position facing forward on his lap, her mouth and hands felt empty; she grabbed his palm from her breast and brought two of his fingers into her mouth, sucking on them as she ground against him through her shorts. His breath hitched as she weaved her tongue around his fingers, and his other hand faltered momentarily as he jerked and pushed his hips into her bum.

"Hermione…" he muttered huskily. Flames shot straight to her core, and she swiftly turned around in his lap, moving back to straddle him, resting on his muscular thighs and her knees, with her heels against her bum. Her now very wet core pressed directly against his very hard cock, with too many layers of fabric in between. She leaned in and kissed him passionately, their tongues fully engaged as their hands roamed everywhere, moving under each other's clothes, hers making contact with his firm, rounded chest and his touching her soft breasts through her bra.

"Draco," she moaned, "I really want you, right now."

He pulled back and looked at her with a hard glint in his eyes that sent another flood of wetness down low. "Me too…" he strangled out. "I asked you to the park so we'd be somewhere public and wouldn't end up like this."

Panting, Hermione murmured, "And I appreciated that; I thought the same thing."

"But I can't seem to keep my hands off you when we're together," he said as his hands resumed squeezing her backside.

"Nor I," Hermione breathed, tilting her head to the side to run her tongue along his neck below his jaw. His breath hitched again, and he bucked his hips up into her thighs. Between nips and kisses, she asked, "Do you think you could sustain a disillusionment charm long enough for us to…?"

"No," he ground out, "I won't be able to concentrate hard enough to keep it going. You?"

"No." She pulled back from his neck. "We could transform the flatware into trees or shrubs to block the view?"

Draco smiled and grabbed their wands from the blanket, summoning several forks from the picnic basket and levitating them into place around the clearing. They each incanted _Arbustufors_ , and watched as four large serviceberry shrubs, taller than Draco, grew into place, shielding them from view. Draco muttered a quick _Silencio_ , then tossed their wands back on the blanket and leaned back, pulling Hermione on top of him. She giggled, and he laughed into her mouth as he resumed kissing her while she scrambled to unbutton his shirt.

Draco grabbed the hem of her blouse and pushed her back enough for him to pull it over her head, and she finished with his buttons, pushing his shirt off his shoulders. Tracing her fingers over his chest, she breathed, "Draco, I could stare at you all day; you are so beautiful."

His eyes flashed with fire, and he sat them both up, divesting himself of his bottoms in a flash, while she did the same. Pulling her back on top of him, he slotted himself at her entrance.

Hermione sank down and sighed in relief at the feeling of him sheathed inside her. She ground down so he hit her front wall, sending tingles to her toes, while he grabbed her arse cheeks and pulled them apart, sinking even deeper into her. She angled herself so that each of his thrusts hit her sensitive spot inside, while she sought friction against him on the outside.

Draco pushed his hips into her roughly, squeezing and kneading her arse as he kept her cheeks spread to sink into her deeper. She snaked a finger down to her clit as she rode him, desperate for more sensation. He pushed her hand away and rubbed his thumb against her. She let out a moan, which turned into a low, continuous keening as the pressure built inside her. They rocked like this for several minutes, his thumb rubbing her into a frenzy of feeling as she rode him up and down.

As she neared her peak, she looked down at him; his eyes were hooded, his mouth half open in pleasure. His gaze was intently focused on the place where their bodies joined. "Spread your legs wider, love, and lean back with your hands on my knees," he uttered. "I want to see more of you wrapped around me, see every last inch of you…"

She bucked against him at his words, her moans strangled in her throat at his demand. Opening her legs wide, she arched her back to rest her hands behind her on his thighs. With a particularly vigorous pinch and rub of his thumb against her, she screamed and rode him through an explosive orgasm. Draco shoved his hips up into her, his thumb moving more erratically as he continued sliding around her clit while she came down from her orgasm.

When she stopped moaning, he clamped his fingers into her hips, pressing her against him firmly. His thrusts made her head and breasts bobble while she remained arched back over his legs. With a final last grunt, he threw his head back against the blanket and shuddered as he came into her. He rode his orgasm out with his hands like a vise on her hips, and then dragged his fingers up to palm her breasts as he came down from his high.

Hermione collapsed on top of him, panting, and Draco wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against his chest. His heart beat rapidly against her ear, and she sighed contentedly as she waited for her own heart rate to slow. He lazily dragged his fingers up and down her bare back as they lay still for several minutes with him still sheathed inside her. Slowly, she rolled off of him and reached for her wand, casting a contraceptive charm and a _Scourgify_ to clean up. She stood to put her clothes back on as he did the same.

Hermione laughed as she struggled into her blouse. "My body feels like jelly. It's hard to get dressed." She looked over at Draco, who was shrugging on his shirt. "I'd like to just keep lying on top of you for the rest of the afternoon."

He paused buttoning his shirt and looked at her carnally. "Me too. But lunch awaits… And Mickey would be put out if I came home with the food uneaten." Draco transformed the picnic containers into food-laden serving dishes, which they scooped onto their lunch plates.

As she dug a fork into her frittata, she turned to Draco. "So, Manchester United, huh? Tell me about your 40th birthday last year; how did you spend it?"

"Well, I thought about going out and getting sloshed in Muggle London with Theo and Blaise. 39 had been a shite year," his eyes darkened, and Hermione knew he was referencing Astoria's death. "And I was ready to leave it behind. But grief doesn't work like that, and I figured if I got sloshed, I'd just end up crying on Theo's shoulder and curled up in a ball alone in my bed, drunk and miserable, at the end of the night."

Hermione's eyes softened in sympathy. No matter how wretched she had felt over the dissolution of her marriage with Ron, it didn't compare to what Draco had gone through. Dissolving their marriage had been a choice. Astoria's death hadn't. And she still had Ron in her life—for better or worse—and a part of her would always love him. He hadn't betrayed her or cheated on her; they just didn't work together anymore. She wasn't really sure if they ever had.

Draco continued. "So instead of getting sloshed with my mates, Daphne hosted a small party at her house. Blaise and his boyfriend came—he was dating an Italian guy at the time; he's dating Tracey Davis now. Pansy and her husband came; she and Daphne both married French wizards. Theo was there with his wife. He married a Muggle, did you know?"

Hermione shook her head, her eyebrows raised in surprise. She hadn't really kept tabs on the old Slytherin social circle. They settled into easy conversation as they finished their lunch.

"So tell me about the globe you sent me last night," Draco prompted. "I've never seen that before."

"Oh," Hermione smiled tenderly, thinking of her children. "I call it _Affectio;_ I came up with the charm when the kids were little. Rose went through a period when she kept waking us up every night. She had all sorts of excuses, but really, she just wanted our company.

"So I came up with the _Affectio_ charm one night when I was so tired, I just couldn't bear to get out of bed again. Ron and I would switch off each night, and it was my night. I told her the globe would light her way back to bed, and that once she tucked herself in, it would disappear into her and be like a big hug from her dad and me. She was willing to try it, and we started using it with the kids whenever they would wake up. It saved me many hours of sleep over the years." Hermione smiled at the memory.

"You'll have to show me how to do it sometime," Draco replied. "It was nice last night, to know you were there thinking about me," he said quietly.

Hermione reached over and grabbed his hand. "Good," she responded. "I didn't get home and see your invitation until really late, and I didn't want you to think I was ignoring you."

He smiled at her and brought her hand to his lips, grazing a kiss on her knuckles. "Well, I appreciated it. Thank you."

-o~0~o-

When they finished eating, Draco cast a _Scourgify_ on their lunch plates and grabbed two last containers out of the basket. "Dessert," he noted and handed one off to Hermione.

She removed the lid and peered inside, her lips twitching into a smile.

"I don't know if you still like them," Draco grinned, "but I remember sugar quills were your favorite back in school."

Hermione glanced at him, brows furrowed in question. "How did you know…" she trailed off.

Draco's eyes softened. "I know I was a total shite in school, but I was an observant shite." He looked down at the blanket, its purple and blue stripes disappearing under the containers before him. "At least, I was observant when it came to you, Potty, and Weasley."

Hermione continued looking at him in question as he glanced up at her. He toyed absently with the dessert container in his hands. "I hated all of you for taking the attention I felt I deserved. You bested me in grades, Potter bested me in popularity, and Weasley, well, he didn't best me in anything," he laughed dryly, "but he was friends with you two, so I hated him too."

Hermione frowned, unsure where he was going with this and uncomfortable remembering the very unpleasant past between them. It was so long ago, and their limited interactions over the past two decades had been nothing but cordial— _until Friday of course, when we progressed far beyond cordial!_ It had been years since their painful past had intruded beyond the edges of her memories, and she wasn't particularly pleased to dredge it up in the middle of a heretofore delightful picnic lunch. His current train of conversation was effectively drying up her desire and, most unfortunately, dredging up memories of her old feelings of dislike. His face even seemed to change somewhat as she looked at him, the sharper, angular outlines of his younger self more apparent in his features.

Draco looked back up at Hermione and continued. "So of course, I watched everything you three did. I was jealous." Draco fidgeted with his signet ring, twirling it around his right ring finger. "I was raised thinking I was entitled to the best of everything. I went to Hogwarts thinking that the Boy Who Lived would jump at the chance to be friends with a Malfoy. And a part of me wanted part of his fame." He laughed dryly again. "And then he rebuffed me when I offered up my friendship on the train."

Hermione pursed her lips, but remained silent. Draco seemed to need to get this off his chest, but she'd rather him not. He looked slightly pitiful as he confided in her, like a grayer version of the smiling, confident, hot-as-hell man she'd just been with. She supposed this was the consequence of letting her lust get away from her. Malfoy wasn't a handsome stranger she had just met and could get to know over a series of dates and then decide if she liked him or not. She hadn't really thought through the fact that their youthful animosity might come up—at least, not this early on. She hadn't been thinking at all, actually; her crotch had done all the thinking for her. He was a different man than the child she'd grown up with, but she didn't really know the adult he'd grown into. She trusted him, yes. But did she know him? No.

Draco was staring back down at the blanket now. "Of course, I offered up my friendship to Potter by insulting Weasley. Because I was raised to hate the Weasleys. We made fun of them for being poor, but mostly we hated them because they were blood traitors." He grimaced as he made air quotes around "blood traitors." He looked at Hermione with a pleading in his eyes. "I…" He breathed deeply, sitting taller, his voice strangling in this throat. "I want to apologize to you, but I feel like any words I have to say will sound trite and worthless." He looked back down at the blanket, unable to hold her gaze.

Hermione sighed internally, not at all in the mood for a deep conversation about things that happened 25 years ago. This was often the way in relationships, she supposed. One partner needed to talk through something important, and the other was caught unawares, but they talked through it because that was what you did in a relationship. The problem was, she wasn't in a relationship with Malfoy. Not yet, anyway. They were just enjoying a mutual attraction to each other that had led to some of the best sex of her life over the past 48 hours. _Maybe you should have thought of this_ _before_ _you jumped in bed with your neighbor Friday night, Hermione… Your neighbor who happens to be_ _Malfoy_ _, whom you have many years of history with—the early part of it_ _not_ _good._

Despite not being in the mood to talk about such serious subjects, she knew she needed to engage with him. She shifted on the blanket to sit right in front of him, and she stilled his fidgeting hands with her own. "Draco, I know you don't believe those things anymore. It was nearly 25 years ago. We've grown… and changed. For the better." She squeezed his hands. "And I would not have spent Friday evening with you, or been with you this afternoon, if I thought you were the same person now that you were back then."

Draco continued looking down at the blanket, but he stroked his thumb over the back of Hermione's hand as she squeezed his. "Thank you," he strangled out. He looked up and caught her gaze. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I'm sorry for how I treated you and your friends, all those years ago. You've gone on to do so much good in the world; you haven't let the past weigh you down or hold you back. I don't know how you did it, but you did. You're an inspiration, you know." He looked back down at their joined hands. "You make people want to be better, to do better." He looked back up at her. "Thank you for that."

Hermione laughed lightly, slightly flattered, but mostly uncomfortable. She preferred confident Draco to the exposed man in front of her. Her feelings for him weren't strong enough to fully appreciate his vulnerability in this moment. "You're welcome, I suppose, though I've just tried to live my life as a witch who rightfully belongs in this world, as much as any other witch or wizard." She tried to keep the coldness she was starting to feel out of her voice, but wasn't sure she fully managed it. "Apology accepted Draco. Really, it was a long time ago, and like I said, I know that you've changed."

She withdrew her hands from his and scooted back to her place by the sugar quills. "Clearly you regret it, and I appreciate you telling me that. But please don't beat yourself up over it. Let's try to move forward into something better and leave the past behind." She pulled a sugar quill out and stuck it in her mouth, then gestured to his lap. "What's your dessert?"

Draco looked at her with a question in his eyes, recognizing her blatant shift in topic as a sign of her discomfort. He feigned a smile and opened the lid of his dessert container, then held it out to her. "Chocolate truffles."

She reached in and grabbed one, popping it in her mouth. Attempting to assume a lighter mood, she remarked, "These are delicious, where did you get them?"

He smiled casually. "Venchi, on George Street. They have so many types of truffles." They chatted for a few more minutes as they finished their dessert, but a stilted air hung over their conversation. Hermione's emotions had become jumbled, and she wasn't sure what she wanted, but she knew she wasn't ready to engage with Draco at this level. She was still off kilter from her divorce, and she wasn't ready to support a new lover through his own regrets about his past, especially regrets that had to do with her. At a lull in the conversation, she put the lid back on the sugar quills and handed the container to him, then stood and stretched, stepping off the blanket.

Draco looked up at her and frowned slightly, clearly understanding her message that she was ready to go. He packed the last container away and bent his legs, standing up and waving the blanket into the basket as he stepped over to Hermione. He took her hand and turned her toward him. "Hey," he said softly. "I'm sorry for bringing up the past. I guess I should have let it lie, but it's hard for me. I want you to know I'm not that person anymore."

Hermione breathed deeply and held back a sigh. "I know, Draco. I know you aren't. I wouldn't have jumped into bed with you if I thought you still believed that shite." She laughed dryly. "Can we just… can we just let it lie?"

"Yes," he responded, and he tucked her into him, his arm around her shoulders, and waved his wand to bring the picnic basket along in front of them, sending it back under a concealment charm. She wrapped her arm around his waist, but it felt half-hearted, and when they stepped back onto the walking path, she inched out from under his arm. It was hard to walk wrapped around someone anyway. They chatted lightly for the remaining half hour walk back to their block, but it lacked the carefree energy of the beginning of their outing.

-o~0~o-

When they reached her house, Draco seemed to fully understand her shift in mood. "Thanks for joining me, Hermione. It was a beautiful day, and I enjoyed your company."

She smiled at him and uttered her thanks back, but her smile didn't fully reach her eyes.

He stepped closer to her and started to reach for her, but dropped his hand back to his side. "Listen," he said softly. "I can tell our conversation went bad for you when I apologized. I'm not sure what you're thinking, but I don't want to end things on this note. I've really enjoyed spending time with you this weekend; honestly, it's one of the best weekends I've had in a long time," he admitted quietly.

Hermione's eyes softened as she looked at him. "Draco, I'm not really sure what I'm thinking. You started talking about school, and honestly, I started seeing your face turn into the mean kid that used to bully me. I hadn't thought about it in so long, and when you brought it up, it brought back all those old feelings of being put down and denigrated."

She fidgeted with her necklace, rolling the pendant over between her fingers. "I just ended a 20-year marriage, and I'm not in the most emotionally stable place to begin with. And you're my neighbor now, and we just jumped into bed together without really thinking about it—or at least, I didn't. I don't know, I don't know what I'm saying or what I'm thinking. Maybe this wasn't a good idea…" She trailed off, still fiddling with her necklace.

Draco's eyes cast downward in disappointment, and she could feel the tension beginning to radiate off his frame. He looked back up at her, the hurt apparent in his eyes, as he tugged absently on his lower shirt button. "I understand what you're saying, and I'm sorry I brought up our childhood. Clearly, I shouldn't have gone there." He let out a humorless chuckle. "I felt like we had a great connection, and then a wall went up when I stupidly brought up the past. Look, can we try again before deciding this isn't a good idea? I'm not just looking for a good shag, if that's what you're worried about. I like spending time with you." He stared at his hands, nervously avoiding her gaze. "I've felt happy this weekend, being around you," he said quietly.

Hermione swallowed heavily. Timid Draco was unnerving her. "Maybe that's part of the problem, Draco," she mused out loud. "Maybe I'm not ready for more than just shagging. My divorce is barely two months' complete, and when I first saw you on your porch, looking like you just stepped out of a catalogue spread, all I wanted to do was get your clothes off you."

He smiled at this, stopping just short of a smirk, given the gravity of their conversation.

Hermione continued, "I didn't really think beyond that, at any point this weekend, until we started talking about our childhood." She paused, trying to figure out her thoughts and put them into words, worrying her necklace and chewing the inside of her lip.

She continued, "I can't… I'm not in a place to make you feel better about what happened in the past. I'm barely holding myself together some days. Our attraction to each other has been fun; it made me feel good. But sorting through our past is more than I feel like dealing with right now." She paused and continued to fiddle with her pendant. "It brought up a lot of tough emotions. I spent most of the last year having difficult conversations with Ron, and I'm tired of difficult conversations."

She expected him to get defensive, in the pattern of discussions with Ron pre-divorce. Instead, Draco looked at her sympathetically. "I understand. Everything you're saying makes sense."

Her shoulders relaxed a bit at his statement.

He asked, "Can you give us another chance, see if we can keep things lighter next time?"

She pursed her lips, uncertain of her response. He was her neighbor, and she'd see him frequently. She had enjoyed their time together, before he had apologized to her. And the fireworks from their sexual encounters were phenomenal. But she wasn't ready for something serious, and with their shared history, she suspected they would have a hard time keeping things "light," as he termed it.

"Look," he said, interrupting her thoughts. "I leave for France Thursday and will be there through the weekend. When I get back, how about we walk up to Côte Bistro one night and have dinner together and try again?"

She twirled her hair in her fingers. It would be awkward to break things off before they'd even really begun. And she appreciated his calm persistence and understanding. She responded better to confident Draco than nervous Draco. He wasn't asking anything of her besides another date a week from now, with the promise to keep it undemanding. And Merlin, he did look enticing with his shirt hugging his arms as he waited for her answer.

She blinked at him and offered a small smile. "Okay."

He tried to hold back his smile, but his lips spread into a broad grin, his eyes crinkling, and the sun glinted off the short stubble along his jaw.

She chewed the inside of her lip. "Draco, I'm sorry I'm such a mess. I thought I had pulled myself together more than this."

"I don't think you're a mess," he said gently. Draco stepped toward her and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, his fingers grazing her arm as he did so. "Have a good afternoon, Hermione. I'll be in touch next week. And if you need anything before I leave, you know where I live." He gave her a wink, and turned, walking across the street to his house.

She watched him go, his shorts hugging his firm bum and the sun shining on his pale hair, and she sighed. She plucked a few blooms from the purple wisteria on her front gate as she wandered into her house. She needed to pull herself together, and right now she didn't know what she wanted. She decided to lose herself in a book for the next hour and put the uncomfortable part of their picnic out of her mind.


	4. Rumblings (Silver Splinters)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter today! I think we're about 1/5th of the way through, I'm guessing about 20 chapters total. Hopefully y'all like the new plot element introduced. It, along with their romance - and lemons of course! - form the central elements of the story. If anything could be better, clearer, etc., lmk. Feedback is helpful, new writer and all that; I do listen and make changes!

The nighttime air held a slight chill as Draco landed on the front lawn of his estate in the French countryside, steadying himself from the swirl of Apparition. He shed his charcoal gray suit jacket as he moved up the lawn to the massive oak entry doors, appreciating the thin silver sliver of moon hanging overhead, illuminating his pale hair in the night sky. Mickey appeared at the door as Draco entered.

"Welcome home, Master Draco. Does you be needing anything before bed?"

"No, not tonight Mickey. It's been a long day. I'll see you in the morning."

Mickey bowed, and Apparated back to his quarters with a pop.

Entering his kitchen, Draco neatly draped his jacket over a bar stool and poured himself a glass of ice water, leaning against the counter as he drank it down. He had had a productive first day in Paris. He had debriefed with his CEO Lucinda Bergman, met PotionLab's new CFO, and checked in with most of the department heads. He was now returning home from dinner with the executive managers, and he felt well-prepared for tomorrow morning's board meeting.

PotionLab was Draco's most successful business venture. It had made massive advancements in Magical and Muggle healing through a combination of Muggle biotechnology and magical methods over the past decade. Most of the company's employees were Muggle, with no knowledge that their majority shareholder and chairman of the board was a wizard, nor, indeed, that magic existed at all. And because wizards weren't vulnerable to the coronavirus, his company was in the perfect position to use blended magical and Muggle methods on vaccine research to help control the pandemic.

Tomorrow's board meeting would provide an update on the coronavirus vaccine progress, his new CFO would go over the financials, and they would discuss strategies for new acquisitions, given the changing dynamic in the medical field with the global pandemic. Lucinda had her eye on several smaller continental biotech companies that she thought might be a good fit for PotionLab.

Downing his water and placing the glass in the sink, Draco wandered over to the window, staring up toward the stars, bright in the country sky, though dimmed somewhat from the waxing moon. For the first time all day, he allowed his thoughts to drift to Hermione. He had spent the first half of the week regretting his too-soon apology and trying not to glance at her house each morning and evening when he was home.

He had thought about sending her an Affectio globe Wednesday evening, before his trip to France. He had felt particularly lonely after returning from dinner with Blaise and Tracey, and had been highly disappointed that Hermione hadn't stopped by before his imminent travel. His body craved her nearness, which surprised him after spending such a short time with her. But he had promised himself he would leave her alone until he returned from his trip, so he had tamped down the urge to reach out to her.

Did Hermione avoid him this week because she didn't want to see him, or because she was embarrassed by her behavior at the end of their outing? Perhaps both? He was grateful she had been honest about her doubts before they parted, and he felt confident—okay, maybe simply hopeful—that they could restore their fledgling attraction next week on a dinner date. Assuming she didn't cancel on him…

Draco shook his head, pushing his circular thoughts away. He needed to speak with his mother before bed to discuss arrangements for her joining him this weekend. He walked to the fireplace and tossed in some powder for a floo call. Lowering to his knees, he stuck his head in the green flames and called for Narcissa. Shortly, his mother appeared before him. "Draco, dear, hello. How was Paris today?"

Draco gave her a tired smile. "Good. Productive. They've made some promising advancements in decoding the coronavirus genome, which bodes well for more effective vaccine development. We'll get a more detailed update at the board meeting tomorrow."

"Wonderful, I'm glad to hear they're making progress." Narcissa pursed her lips and frowned. "I heard a rumor today that gave me some pause, Draco… I had tea with Helena, to discuss the new potions research wing for St. Mungo's, and… I'm concerned that anti-Muggle sentiment is growing again, becoming more organized; I think some former Death Eater families may be trying to use the coronavirus to promote blood purity ideals and gain power."

Draco furrowed his brows; Helena was Astoria's mother, and the Greengrasses didn't subscribe to blood purity beliefs anymore. "I don't understand, Mother. Wizards aren't susceptible to the coronavirus, regardless of heritage. The magic in our veins gives us immunity, whether Muggle-born, half-blood, or pure-blood."

Narcissa responded, "Yes, exactly. Wizards aren't dying, but Muggles are, in droves. Think about it, my dragon; former Death Eaters who wish to regain power can point to the susceptibility of Muggles to this disease as evidence that they are a weak and tainted race… and by extension, wizards who have Muggle ties, whether by marriage, heritage, or simply sympathizers, are tainted too."

She continued. "Helena mentioned recent meetings with Euphemia Rowle and Ursula Carrow. Euphemia asked if the Greengrasses would sign on to a letter the Rowles and Selwyns are writing to the Prophet, emphasizing the need to protect Wizardkind from diseased Muggles. They're gathering signatures to endorse the letter, and she asked Helena if your father might be interested in signing it." Narcissa frowned further.

"What?!" Draco exclaimed. "Father's not been fully in his right mind since he returned from Azkaban three years ago. That's fairly common knowledge, I'm sure."

Narcissa clasped her hands and nodded primly. "Of course it is, dear. If he's not in his right mind, the easier to get him to sign a letter purporting his earlier beliefs. Clearly, with your blended Magical-Muggle businesses, they are unlikely to approach you for support. But your father could be swayed if they were to reach him without one of us by his side."

Draco frowned, thinking. "Leaving aside Father's potential support for the moment, I can't see how a mere letter to the Prophet indicates an organized uprising of former Death Eaters. As horrible as their viewpoint is, it's just an unpopular opinion from a couple of unsavory families. And the younger generation is unlikely to support their parents in those views."

"Well, yes, I would agree with you, were it that letter alone," Narcissa responded. "However, Ursula conveyed information to Helena that seemed more insidious. Her brother-in-law is Sheridan Flint; he's on the Wizengamot and is currently the director of the DMLE's Administrative Registration Department. Apparently, he's been working with Malvina Bulstrode, who leads the Health Division of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, on anti-Muggle legislation."

"What?!" Draco broke in.

"Well, they're not framing the legislation that way, of course. But it sounded to Helena like that was the intent," Narcissa continued. "Mr. Flint and Mrs. Bulstrode are working on legislation to limit Wizard contact with Muggles during the pandemic. The law would require Muggle spouses to isolate themselves away from their magical families, and it would restrict Muggle-born wizards from attending Hogwarts next year because of their exposure to their Muggle parents and siblings. Ursula fully supported the draft law, and she indicated that she had spoken with friends in other Sacred 28 families who supported it. She implied Helena and Gareth should too, saying these types of protections would help pure-blood families regain their rightful status."

Draco let out a heavy breath, unease settling across his skin.

Narcissa gave Draco a grim smile. "Helena wants to stay informed about what's happening, so she told Euphemia she'd discuss the letter with Gareth, and she remained non-committal with Ursula. Apparently, Gareth has been approached too, by Flint directly. We need pure-blood families speaking out against pure-blood ideology, but we also need to understand what the Dark Lord's sympathizers are doing.

"Draco, I'm worried, both about the sentiment at large, and closer to home, about PotionLab and your other Magical-Muggle businesses. Although your business model is no longer unique, PotionLab is the only blended business publicly traded on the Muggle stock market. If wizarding law made it impossible for you to continue mixing Magical and Muggle employees and research, or restricted your ability to move forward with the coronavirus vaccine…"

Draco closed his eyes, taking in his mother's words. "This does sound like it has the potential to be bad. But surely there are enough new thinkers and Muggle supporters in the Ministry that Flint and Bulstrode wouldn't be able to push this kind of legislation through? It just seems so far-fetched. We've had peace for over 20 years now, and my generation does not purport those beliefs, nor do our children."

Narcissa's lips lifted into a sad, sympathetic smile. "My dragon, the sentiment is still there, it's just gone underground. It hasn't been a popular opinion to express, particularly among the younger generations. Helena and Gareth are worried. Many of the more repentant Death Eaters were released from Azkaban with your father in 2018. You know most of them didn't shed their ideology while imprisoned. If anything, many of them became more fanatical because of the mental strain of being in that…" Narcissa shuddered, "...horrendous place. It broke your father, and it broke them too."

She sniffed. "It pains me to see your father like this, but I fully believe the side we supported was wrong. Many spouses and family members of released prisoners are not of like mind. They feel intense anger and judgment toward Muggle supporters because of their families' tribulations. I can envision enough of them supporting such harsh legislation that it could pass, opening the door for ever harsher measures moving forward." Narcissa pleaded, "Draco, promise me you will keep your eyes and ears open. Do you think you should discuss this with your board tomorrow?"

Draco sighed, running his hand down his face. "I'd like to, but I'm uncomfortable bringing up information I've heard third- or fourth-hand. I'd like to confirm that Flint and Bulstrode are actually working on this legislation, and also find out whether there are any other ongoing discussions, whether organized or informal, among former Death Eater families. Do you think any of them will approach you, or will we need to work with Helena and Gareth to get information?"

"I think we'll need to rely on Helena and Gareth, dear. I imagine they will assume you and I would be of like mind, and therefore, they are unlikely to approach me. I also need to instruct the elves not to allow anyone access to your father when I'm not here, unless they're on an approved list of visitors."

Draco closed his eyes again, bowing his head.

Narcissa spoke. "You're tired dear, I know it's been a long day. We can discuss this further this weekend, when we're together.

Draco looked up and smiled wanly. "Thank you, Mother. When do you plan to arrive?"

"I had planned to take a portkey tomorrow evening and join you for dinner. Is that still acceptable, or do you need to entertain your board members tomorrow evening?"

Draco answered, "No, that should be fine, I'm looking forward to it. I took Lucinda and our new CFO to dinner tonight, and I don't believe any of the board members will be staying in town past tomorrow afternoon."

Reverting to her usual clipped tone, Narcissa replied, "Wonderful. Would you ask Mickey if he can prepare chicken fricassee with fresh tarragon and carrots from the greenhouse? It's never better than when eaten in France."

Draco nodded. "Of course, Mother; that sounds delicious. I'll see you tomorrow evening. Good night."

"Good night, love."

Draco pulled his head from the green flames, and the fireplace was dark again. He climbed to his feet, his back stiff from their extended conversation, and pressed his fingers into his temples. His mother's news was disturbing. Draco wondered if the Parkinsons had been approached similarly, or Daphne. Pansy and Daphne could be helpful ears on the ground for his generation, while Helena and Gareth provided information for his parents'.

Exhausted and unable to dwell on the troubling conversation any further, Draco apparated to his bedroom, too tired to walk five minutes through the sprawling manor to reach his sleeping quarters. Stretching his legs in the cool smoothness of the silk bedsheets, Draco breathed deeply to relax. The stillness of the French countryside washed through him, pushing thoughts of Hermione, work, and Death Eaters from his mind. He fell asleep dreaming of Astoria lying next to him, running her fingers over his chest, keeping him company in the inky dark of the large, empty manor.

* * *

Several days later, Draco stepped out his door into the balmy spring evening, his dragonhide lace-ups tapping against the asphalt as he crossed the road to Hermione's house. He had returned from France with his mother last night, portkeying directly from their French estate to Malfoy Manor to join his parents for Sunday dinner. He had apparated home after, relieved that he no longer occupied his old wing in the manor, which was vast, empty, and contained memories of Astoria in every room.

Draco and Narcissa had spoken at length over the weekend about his mother-in-law's disturbing news regarding anti-Muggle sentiments, and they had developed a plan of action to gather more information. His mother would schedule teas with several of her acquaintances among the Sacred 28, and Draco would invite Daphne and Pansy to dinner, as a start. They also agreed he would talk with Harry Potter, who was the current head of the Auror wing of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Draco passed through Hermione's fragrant wisteria-covered front gate and rapped his knuckles against her front door. A distant "Just a moment!" came from within, and shortly after, she opened the door. His eyes drank her in: her striped work blouse open at the neck, her navy cigarette pants hugging her curves, her bun from the work day unraveling around her ears, and her warm cinnamon eyes gazing up at him from below long, dark lashes. Draco felt himself twitch down low at the sight of her after a week apart, unable to stop his body's involuntary response. She looked enticing and highly fuckable.

Hermione's brows rose in surprise at the sight of him, and a self-deprecating smile twitched the corners of her lips.

So she _was_ embarrassed by her behavior last week.

"Hi!" she greeted, her voice a pitch higher than normal. She cleared her throat, and spoke in a more normal register. "Welcome home! Apologies for the delay in answering the door, I'm on a floo call with Harry."

Draco took a step back, holding up his hands in front of his chest. "I can come back later when you're done," he offered.

"No, no," Hermione responded, "we were wrapping up. I thought perhaps you were Mrs. Turner, bringing Crookshanks back, he always wanders over to her house and starts up fights with her cat. Just a moment, let me tell Harry I need to go."

"Crookshanks is still alive?" Draco asked incredulously as she retreated.

"No!" she laughed over her shoulder. "This is Crookshanks the Third. I'll tell you that story another time."

_'Another time,' that's good, she anticipates talking with me again beyond this evening._

Hermione disappeared into the living room. "Harry," Draco overheard, "Malfoy's here, I need to go. Listen, I'll see you for lunch tomorrow, and give Gin a hug for me."

"Malfoy?" came Harry's disembodied voice. Draco sniggered internally at the confusion in Harry's tone. "What's Malfoy doing there?"

"Oh," Hermione faltered, "he moved in across the road a few weeks ago."

There was a brief awkward pause when Hermione neglected to explain why Draco was at her door. Harry's voice came again. "Why didn't you tell me Malfoy moved in?"

"Harry, he can hear everything you're saying, he's standing at the door."

Harry yelled, "Hi Malfoy, you old shit!"

Draco laughed and strolled into the living room to join them, looking down at Potter's head floating in the fireplace. "Hi Potty," he drawled. "How's life with the Weaslette these days?"

Harry stuck out his tongue, then grinned. "Gin and I are fine. I didn't know you moved!" He tilted his head toward Hermione. "You didn't tell me the biggest prat in England just became your neighbor."

Hermione rolled her eyes while Draco shook his head in good humor. "I needed to get out of the Manor. It was too large and lonely, clattering around in my wing with Astoria gone and Scorpius in school."

Harry's eyes softened in sympathy. "How d'you like your new place?"

"It's good," Draco replied. "I've been traveling to France nearly weekly lately. It's nice to come home to a smaller house, in a busy neighborhood with people around. My lovely new neighbor was an unexpected bonus." He smirked and nodded at Hermione, and a slight blush rose in her cheeks.

Unsuspecting, Harry remarked with mirth, "Hands off Malfoy, she bites."

_Too late for that!_ and _Yes, I know!_ ran through Draco's head simultaneously.

Hermione's blush grew darker, her thoughts likely along the same lines, as she exclaimed "Harry! Honestly, you two..."

"So how are things at the DMLE these days? Has the pandemic resulted in any continued disruptions in Auror activities?" asked Draco, diverting attention from a flustered Hermione and fishing for information related to his mother's recent discoveries.

"Well…" Harry replied, "nothing substantial since last year, or you'd have read about it in the Prophet, but there have been some small occurrences that have elevated our threat level a bit higher than usual."

"Really?" Draco remarked. "What kinds of occurrences?"

Harry looked to each side in the floo and responded, "I can't talk about them here, it's an unsecured floo network. I doubt anyone is listening, but all the same…"

"Hmm," Draco mused. "I've had an interesting conversation recently. My mother-in-law has heard some rumors… Might we meet for lunch or a drink in the next several weeks?"

Harry's eyebrows raised, intrigued. "Certainly. Owl me at home? Drinks will be easier; it's hard for me to get away during the day sometimes."

Draco nodded. "I will, thanks Potter. Please don't mention it to anyone in the Auror office, or anywhere, really, until after we meet."

"No problem, mate; I'm interested in what you've heard," Harry responded, questions apparent in his expression. He turned to Hermione. "Well, Hermione, I'll see you tomorrow. You're still coming Saturday night, right?"

"Yes, looking forward to it. You sure you have to invite Ron though?" she half-joked.

Harry frowned uncomfortably, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"No, no, it's fine," Hermione backpedaled. "We told you and Gin we wouldn't put you in the middle." She glanced at Draco, muttering, "I can't escape Ron, given my best friends are his family."

Harry looked over to Draco. "You're welcome to come too, Malfoy. George and Angelina, Ron, and Teddy are joining us. 6:00 Saturday. Hermione can give you the address. 'V'you seen Teddy lately?"

Draco looked surreptitiously at Hermione to see her reaction to Potter's invitation; her expression remained carefully neutral. He decided not to commit one way or the other without talking to her first. "Thanks for the invite, Potter. Yeah, Mother and I dined with Andromeda and Teddy shortly before I moved out of the Manor. He'd just returned from accompanying the Minister to New York for a series of meetings at MACUSA. Seems to be enjoying working security detail, and his ability to change his features is useful for the lead security agent."

"Yes, it suits him well," Harry agreed. "He's got half the interns in my office swooning after him, witches and wizards alike."

Draco chuckled in response, as Hermione said with some heat in her voice, "Yes, he's grown into a very attractive young man."

"Aw, you too Hermione?!" Harry groaned. Then he smirked at her. "Well, he's single you know; he and Victoire called it quits a few months ago. He could be your young boy toy for a post-divorce rebound."

"Harry! How could you even insinuate that?!" Hermione's cheeks flushed bright red, and she studiously avoided looking over at Draco.

Harry laughed evilly. "On that note, good evening Hermione, Malfoy." He nodded at them both, and his head disappeared from the fireplace as the green flames vanished.

Hermione turned toward Draco, the red bloom slowly fading from her cheeks and muttered, "Sorry about that, sometimes Harry doesn't know when to stop." She took a deep breath, composing herself and plastering an awkward smile on her face as she looked at Draco. "How was France? Did you have a good board meeting?" Her fingers fidgeted with a button on her blouse, drawing Draco's attention to her bust. She noticed where his eyes landed, and let go of her button, bringing her hand up to a stray curl instead.

Draco looked back up, taking in the lively amber of her eyes, which warmed him inside. "France was productive, and I had a pleasant weekend with my mother. Can I tell you about it over dinner this week? I think you'd be interested in PotionLab's work. I'd also like to chat with you about a conversation I had with my mother—the same thing I referred to when we were talking with Potter." He kept his gaze steadily focused on her face, though he was itching to look down at the open buttons on her shirt and the curve of her hips under the smooth navy fabric of her pants.

Hermione continued to twirl the curl that had escaped her knot; she didn't answer his question immediately, and instead apologized. "Thanks for stopping by, Draco. I'm sorry for how I acted last week. I needed to sort myself out."

"Have you?" Draco asked gently, encouragingly. "Sorted things out?"

She let a dry chuckle escape. "No, not really. But I don't think I need to; or rather, I don't think I can, not right now anyway. My current life situation is too new to make sense of. I decided I just need to let things happen as they will."

Draco held his breath, staring at her intensely, waiting for her to finish. He saw her chest rise and fall quickly, and realized his proximity was affecting her, which made his own pulse increase.

Hermione continued, "I enjoyed spending time with you last weekend, and as long as we keep things light, at least in regards to you and me, I'd love to join you for dinner this week."

He smiled broadly, breathing a silent sigh of relief, and an exhilarating heat settled somewhere down around his crotch at the thought of getting to touch her again. They agreed on Wednesday evening, two days from now. "I'll meet you at 6:30, and we can walk up to Côte Bistro together?"

"That sounds nice," Hermione replied. She started to step toward him, then hesitated.

Draco could see the want in her eyes as they turned dark, and he felt a small crackle of magic flow through his chest. He moved forward, reaching his hand out to the curve of her hip and drawing her in. She palmed the rounds of his chest, and her firm touch sent more heat directly between his legs. His hands itched to unbutton the rest of her blouse and pull her breasts free of her bra.

She tilted her head up, glancing at his lips, then stood on her toes to give him a gentle, cautious kiss of apology. Draco wrapped his hands around the curve of her lower back and returned her kiss softly, letting her take the lead. She nipped lightly at his lips with hers, then pulled back, slightly breathy. She stared up at him; he could tell she was debating whether to step away or come back for more. Draco saw the moment she gave in to her wishes, and she leaned back in and kissed him more aggressively. He pulled her closer, grabbing her bum firmly, and she moaned into his mouth as they kissed.

He was fully hard now, and very stimulated by the feeling of her petite form against his body. He pushed his hips into her, an involuntary movement; she answered back by snaking her hand between their bodies and rubbing him through his work pants. He sucked in a breath and pulled back from their kiss. "Hermione," he breathed into her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, he noticed, "unless you want to end up on your sofa in 30 seconds with no clothes on, move your hand somewhere else."

She turned her head toward his, seeking his lips again, and gave him a last squeeze through his pants, before bringing her hand back up to his chest. He released a breath—in gratitude or frustration, he wasn't sure—and finished out their kiss before pulling her into him, nestling her head into his front. His heart beat heavily against her—working to push all of his body's blood straight to his cock he imagined—and he felt a wave of relief to have her back in his arms, after a week of trying to avoid thinking about whether she'd agree to see him again.

"I know I'm kind of a head case right now. Thanks for putting up with me, Malfoy," she mumbled against his chest.

He kissed the crown of her head, a sweet floral scent wafting around him from her shampoo. "Any time, Granger," he breathed.

After a moment, they pulled apart and moved together for the door, exchanging goodbyes. He stepped out into the evening sun; a fast-paced run would be just the thing to work off his nervous energy before dinner. Ten minutes later, his trainers hit the asphalt to carry him to the park.

* * *

Wednesday evening came, and Draco slipped out his door, eyes trained on the wisteria-covered gate across the street. He was eager to collect Hermione for their dinner date. He wore slim-fitting wheat-colored sueded twill pants and the white button down shirt he'd been wearing when Hermione first appeared on his porch several weeks ago. He'd noticed the way her eyes had trailed down his body several times that first evening; the shirt did fit him nicely.

He spent several minutes waiting for Hermione to answer her door, resorting to ringing her bell several times. When she finally opened the door, he couldn't hide his surprise at her appearance. She wore joggers and a wrinkled tank top, her hair was wild, and she had sleep creases against one cheek. But what alarmed him was that her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying earlier, and she held her left arm gingerly in her right.

"Hi Draco." She winced in apology. "I'm so sorry I didn't owl or stop by. I can't go to dinner tonight, I've had a rotten day. My neuropathy is acting up terribly, and my left arm is mostly useless right now." She jerked her chin down to her arm cradled against her. "I kept thinking I'd be able to pull myself together for dinner if the pain relievers kicked in, but then I fell asleep. I didn't wake up until just now, when I heard the bell ringing." Cringing, she motioned him inside. "I'm so sorry; I hate for you to see me like this."

Draco frowned, concerned, as he followed her into her living room. "Please don't apologize. What happened?"

She sat down on the sofa and sighed. "It's primarily from the _Cruciatus_ curse. Do you get it, the nerve pain?"

"Yes, I get it too." Draco settled into the sofa cushion next to her, nodding. "My legs and arms tingle and I get achy all over. Sometimes I have brief periods where I can't walk, but it usually subsides within 10 or 15 minutes."

Hermione gave him a wry smile. "Yes, me too, although mine has never been so bad I can't walk. Did you… did you experience the _Cruciatus_ curse many times? Is that why yours is worse?"

He closed his eyes and shuddered. "Yes, I did. And yes, probably so. I don't like to think about it." He opened his eyes again and glanced at her arm cradled in her lap. "But I don't have issues with my arms."

She grimaced, rubbing her good hand along her left arm. "My arm disfunction seems to be a combination of the cursed knife Bellatrix used and the _Cruciatus_ -related neuropathy. When the Cruciatus nerve pain starts up, oftentimes my left arm becomes nearly useless, and it burns more than the other parts. Muggle pain medicine seems to help it the most, and potions help the rest of me. Even so, the Muggle medicine helps only with the pain, not with my arm function. It was so bad today that I stopped work early and came home."

Draco couldn't stop the images of her torture from flashing through his mind. Her screams, her blood dripping onto the floor in front of him as Bellatrix carved "Mudblood" into her arm with her knife. It had been horrific, and he had done nothing. He had stood there and watched, desperate for it to stop, and had done nothing to help her, for fear of dying or getting his parents killed. He closed his eyes at the agony of the memories, desperately wanting to apologize to her, but knowing it wouldn't make her feel better and would likely push her away from him again. He opened his eyes and gazed intently at her. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. How often does this happen?"

"For a while it was only a few times a year. But it's become more frequent over the past five years or so, I think due to my age. And the effects have become more permanent over time; even when I'm not having an episode, I always have a light tingling in my left fingers now, and my arm is slowly losing some of its muscle coordination."

She continued, "Sometimes the episodes are triggered by intense physical activity, and sometimes it just comes on. I think lately, it may be stress-related, because it's happened nearly once a month since Ron and I started talking about getting divorced a year ago. Although, this is the first time it's happened since the divorce was finalized. I realize that I relied on Ron rather heavily during these episodes. You never realize how useful two arms and hands are 'til you can't use one of them." She chuckled dryly.

Draco's eyes darkened in sympathy. "Can I bring you some dinner?"

Hermione nodded gratefully. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd like that. Would you… could you stay here and eat with me? I'd like the distraction, and I'd like to hear about your trip."

Draco smiled tenderly at her. "Of course. How about chicken soup? I can ask Mickey to cook it up for us while I stay with you."

She nodded bleary-eyed at him and sank back into the sofa cushions.

Draco snapped his fingers, calling for Mickey, who Apparated to them with a "pop!" After introducing Mickey and Hermione, Draco sent him away with orders for chicken soup with peasant bread and salad.

"Can I get you some more pain potion?" Draco asked, eyeing her limp arm.

Hermione looked at her watch. "Actually yes, that would be great, it's time for another round." She directed him to the correct kitchen cabinet, and he brought her a vial of purple pain potion, tablets of Muggle ibuprofen, and a glass of ice water.

"Thank you," she smiled, her fingers grazing his as she took the items from him. "Would you also mind getting a hair tie to help me put this mess up? I can't do it one-handed. I know I look a fright."

Draco gazed down at her affectionately. "You don't look a fright. You just look like you've had a rough afternoon. Where can I find a hair tie?"

Draco ascended her stairs and made his way to the master bath, admiring the muted tones of cream, tan, lavender, and white of her bedroom décor. He located her hair ties in a cup in the bathroom cabinet and found himself feeling nostalgic about Astoria's feminine toiletries that no longer graced his bathroom.

Returning to Hermione, Draco settled onto the sofa, and she turned her back to him, instructing him on how to tie her hair back. He gathered her curls in his hands, smoothing it back from her face, his fingers grazing her skin intimately. She visibly shivered as his fingertips ran along her neck, gathering stray tendrils from below. He moved slowly, deliberately, her tresses soft as silk against his palms. Somehow this felt profoundly intimate, assisting her in a common task she couldn't perform herself, her skin supple against his fingers, her locks attempting to escape his grasp. He gently slid her gathered hair through the tie as she remained still before him, the scent of her shampoo wafting into the air, and he twisted the tie twice, pulling her hair back through each time. He slowly released her curls, now tamed, into a ponytail hanging down her back. Reluctant to surrender contact with her, he smoothed his hands down her bare arms, light as a feather along her left arm, and grasped her right hand with his. "Feel better?" he breathed.

She squeezed his hand and nodded, murmuring thank you, then tilted her head back against his shoulder for a moment. He breathed her in, appreciating this quiet moment as much as—more than?—their earlier sexual intimacy. After a beat, she lifted her head, and he shifted position on the sofa so they could sit side by side.

Draco eyeballed Hermione's joggers and his pants. He might as well get comfortable if he'd be spending the evening on her sofa. He pulled out his wand and transfigured his khakis into black joggers and his button down into a gray tee shirt, then removed his shoes and propped his socked feet on her coffee table. Hermione's eyes shined in gratitude, and she scooted over to him, snuggling into his side. Draco's breath hitched as he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. He hadn't held a woman like this—snuggled together in companionship, separate from the lust they had shared previously—since Astoria had died. Anguish at Astoria's absence and elation at Hermione's presence in his arms flashed through him all at the same time. Merlin, he missed Astoria.

Hermione responded to his sudden stiffness. "Is this okay?" Hermione asked quietly from his shoulder. "I can move…"

Draco consciously relaxed, wrapping his arm around her tighter. Should he be honest with her? Would it push her away? He didn't want to hold in things that were important to him, just for fear of scaring her; he would speak his truth. "No, don't move; I'm sorry. I was thinking about Astoria. I haven't… I haven't held another woman like this since she passed. I mean, yes, you and I have been together, but not in this cozy-sitting-on-the-sofa domestic sort of way."

"Oh," she breathed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" her voice trailed off, and she began to push away from him.

"No, no, it's okay." He pulled her back tight against him. "I like it. It feels good." He bent down and kissed the top of her head. "It's just new, and I miss her. I'll always miss her. But I want to be with you, like this. This feels good."

Hermione leaned her into his side again. "I'd love to hear more about her sometime, if you'd like to talk about her," she said tentatively.

_Yes. Yes, I would._ He swallowed heavily. "Thank you, Hermione. I may do that sometime."

When he didn't say anything else, Hermione prompted, "Tell me about your trip to France." Draco could feel the vibrations from her voice against his torso. "I don't feel much like talking right now, but I'd love to hear about it."

Draco walked her through his days at PotionLab's French headquarters. Despite not wanting to talk, she asked ample questions about his company and its mix of Magical and Muggle technology. After half an hour of conversation, he had given her a fairly comprehensive overview of the various arms of the business, how its science worked, and how the business model worked. She had become more animated as the discussion had progressed, seeming to forget her physical pains and becoming enraptured with the concept of blended Magical-Muggle industry.

Draco had just begun to recount Saturday's trip to Bordeaux with his mother when Mickey Apparated into the living room with a pop, startling them both.

"Master. Missus Hermione." He bowed to them each, ears flopping as he did so. "Mickey did not mean to startle you. Dinner is ready. Should Mickey send the plates to the dining table here?"

Hermione answered in the affirmative, and Mickey bowed again before disappearing back to Draco's kitchen. In several minutes' time, a fully set table magically appeared in Hermione's dining room, the rich fragrance of homemade chicken broth permeating the air. Draco helped her over to the head of the table, holding her hand, and she sat down gingerly on a cushioned chair. He sat to her left, and she propped her useless arm on the table next to her steaming bowl of soup.

-o~0~o-

Midway through dinner, Hermione visibly perked up, a result of the pain relievers and a good meal. She had been telling Draco about her consulting work with the International Confederation of Wizards and various European and North African magical ministries to help establish a magical equivalent of the European Union. She had a meeting at the German ministry tomorrow morning, which she hoped she'd feel well enough to attend.

With her renewed energy, Draco considered bringing up Flint's potential legislation and the Rowles' letter to the Prophet. He wanted to discuss the rumors with her, but she hadn't remembered to ask about it, and he decided the ominous news could wait until another day when she felt better. Instead, he asked her about Saturday. "So, Potter's dinner party… Should I accept or decline?"

Hermione finished swallowing a mouthful of soup, giving herself an extra second to consider the question. He saw indecision flit across her face. "Harry invited you. If you'd like to attend, please accept."

He didn't respond, but knit his brows in question at her.

She swallowed another mouthful of soup, continuing to think. "I… well, it would be awkward for me, with Ron there, and you at the same time. And I wouldn't want to let on that there's something between us, not with Ron there." She broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in her soup. "But if we continue to see each other, it would be nice for my friends to get to know you on your own terms before they suspect anything's going on between us."

She popped the bread in her mouth and chewed, still thinking. Draco remained silent while she processed her thoughts. "It would also give you the opportunity to talk with Teddy about whatever it is that you were talking with Harry about, the rumors you were referring to. Although you can meet with Teddy anytime. Honestly, Ron might know something too, and this is likely one of the few chances you'd have to talk with him. If he can pull his head out of his arse long enough to have a conversation with you." She rolled her eyes. "So yes, if you'd like to go, I think it sounds like a good idea. But if you'd rather not, please don't feel compelled."

Draco smiled at her now that her thought process was complete. "Those are all good points, and I would like to join you." He grinned. "It would be fun to rile up the Weasel just a bit though, flirt with you in front of him, see his face turn as red as his hair…"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't you dare, you poncy arse. One foot out of line Saturday night, and I will hit you with a stinging hex before you know what's happened."

Draco tapped his chin. "Provoke the Weasel… stinging hex… I don't know, getting hexed might be worth it…"

"If my left arm was working, I'd whack you right now, Malfoy."

Draco laughed, loud. "You know I'm joking. Well, about flirting with you in front of him. I can't promise I won't do something else to piss him off. It's just too fun, he's so ready to be offended."

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "What is it with you two? Also, can you please call him Ron, and not the Weasel? Or at least call him Weasley? Seriously, even if this doesn't go anywhere," she waved her fingers between them, "we're neighbors now, and Ron will be around some. And if it does go somewhere, you'll see him even more. Can you _try_ to get along and not make him hate you immediately?"

Draco tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to wipe the smirk from his face. "I'll consider it."

Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to eating her soup, muttering, "Men…"

Draco silently ate several more bites of his meal, attempting to push away highly satisfying mental images of a red-faced Weasel spluttering over Draco kissing his ex-wife in front of him. When he felt sufficiently in control of his thoughts, he reached over and laid his hand on top of Hermione's. "I promise I will be on my best behavior Saturday and will not attempt to rile up… Weasley." The word 'Ron' was just too difficult to push through his lips; he didn't think he'd ever be able to call the man by his given name.

-o~0~o-

After dinner, Mickey returned to vanish the meal, and Draco stood to help Hermione up from the table. He pushed in his chair and stepped to her, offering his hand. "How are you feeling, love?"

At his endearment, she lifted her face to his, her eyes softening for a moment as a gentle smile graced her lips. His stomach dropped at her unguarded expression in response to his words. She was normally so in control, so confident. Now… awe, need, uncertainty all danced across her face in a split second of vulnerability. He wanted to envelop her and never let her go, to let her know she would be okay in his arms, no matter what happened with her physical ailments, Death Eater rumblings, heartache from divorce. And he wanted to feel that he would be okay in hers, her touch soothing some of the rough edges of his grief over Astoria, a grief that somehow both flared stronger and felt more tolerable in her presence. She searched his eyes, seeming to sense the intensity behind them. Draco wrapped her body into his, and she snaked her good arm around his waist, squeezing herself tightly against him, her left arm pinned between their bodies.

"I feel better, thanks, at least mentally." She nuzzled her face into his chest as they stood together, holding on to one another in the silent house. After several minutes, she pulled her head back and looked at him. "I think I'll sit in the back room and watch telly for a bit before I go to bed. Have you ever watched Muggle telly?"

Draco nodded. "I've been in Muggle sports bars and watched sports on tv before. I don't know how to work one though."

Hermione laughed lightly. "They're easy to work, I'll show you sometime." She began to shift away from him. "Thank you so much for dinner and for keeping me company. It's made tonight much better than it would have been otherwise."

Draco hugged her closer and asked, "Would you like company while you watch tv?"

Hermione looked up at him. "Are you sure you want to sit around and watch Muggle tv shows with me? It's kind of boring."

"Hermione, honestly, we could sit around and stare at the wall together and I'd be happy." Dear Merlin's mermaids, could he be any less smooth?

She squeezed him closer in response. "Then yes, I'd like your company. Thanks." They walked arm in arm to the back room and settled into the sofa. Draco summoned a plush lavender blanket from a nearby chair and draped it across them, the chenille threads glinting in the light. Hermione nestled into his side, his arm wrapped around her, as she turned on the telly and showed him how to work the remote.

They snuggled together and settled on a Muggle football game. Draco didn't know the rules very well, but he'd seen enough games at Muggle sports bars to understand the general idea. It was a playoff match, but despite the high energy on the tv, Hermione was nearly asleep by the end of it. As the post-game recap wound down, Draco clicked the telly off and turned to Hermione. "Do you need help getting ready for bed?"

"No, I'm fine." She tried to wiggle her left-hand fingers, but they barely moved. "I'll just sleep in this shirt, and I can wash my face and such one-handed."

"Hermione, I'm happy to help you." His brows furrowed. "I have a lot of experience with this; Astoria needed a great deal of help during the last year."

Hermione's eyes watered at his statement. "Oh Draco..." She stroked his cheek with her good hand, fingertips trailing down his jaw, unknowingly sanding down one more rough splinter of grief in his heart. After a moment of silent sympathy, she replied, "I guess this is the first time this has happened since I started living alone. I'm sure I can manage on my own, but thank you for offering."

"Hermione, unless you're embarrassed to have me help you, please let me help. I'll feel better going home knowing you're comfortably tucked in bed."

She acquiesced, and he spent the next ten minutes helping her change her clothes and prepare for bed. He helped her under the covers, and part of him wished he could crawl into bed with her and pull her tight to him, keeping her safe all night. She hadn't mentioned nightmares, but his were always worse during periods of nerve pain. Should he ask her? She hadn't brought it up, so he let it lie.

"Can I come check on you in the morning?" he asked instead. She started to protest, but he interrupted her. "I shouldn't have phrased that as a question. I'd like to check on you in the morning; I'll feel better going into work knowing how you're doing."

She hesitated, but acquiesced with a quiet, "Okay. Thank you." Still uncertain, she said, "Draco, I can always call Ginny if I need help. You don't need to feel responsible for me."

His eyes softened. "I don't feel responsible for you, love." _I care about you._ "I'll just feel better knowing how you are. Not to be too forward, but can I connect our floos on my way out tonight, in case you're not feeling good enough to come to the door? If you don't want them to stay connected, I can disconnect it right after."

"No, that's fine to connect them, I don't mind; I trust you."

Something warm inside him flared to life at her statement. He knew intuitively that she trusted him, but hearing the words come out of her mouth felt like further liberation from his past transgressions, and her trust melted more icy shards of sorrow.

She continued, unaware of the effect of her words, "Why don't you floo over around 6:30? I need to take a portkey to the German ministry at 8:00."

"See you at 6:30 then." He bent down to kiss her goodnight. "Good night Hermione."

"Good night Draco."


	5. The Party (Orange Flames)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my new alpha/beta Astrangefan. I'm so pleased to have her help with this story moving forward; she's been incredibly helpful, and I'm so grateful for the time she's spent reviewing, discussing ideas, and editing. Now that I've got a lovely alphabet, I expect to post about every other Saturday. Thank you also to my early alpha highlyintelligentblonde.

Harry greeted Draco Saturday night with a handshake and a firm hug and clap on the back. “Good to see you, mate, glad you could join us!”

“Thanks for the invite, Potter. Nice to see you too, it’s been awhile.” Draco handed Harry a bottle of Ogden’s Finest Firewhiskey as he stepped away from the floo. The two men had become friendly acquaintances over the past two decades, through their mutual relationship with Teddy. Draco had been fairly involved in the boy’s life since Narcissa and Andromeda had reconciled after the war, and as a result, he’d seen Harry at least every few months during Teddy’s childhood. The men had developed a mutual respect for one another, at first begrudgingly, but ultimately charitable. Since Teddy had graduated Hogwarts nearly six years ago, they had run into each other less frequently.

Harry motioned Draco toward the kitchen. “Do you know when Hermione’s coming?”

“No, I don’t,” Draco lied. In truth, he was in charge of her arrival time, via the enchanted coin in his right pocket. He had insisted Thursday morning, when he helped her get ready for her meeting at the German ministry, that she floo over to his house that evening to let him know how she was doing. Happily, by the end of the day, her arm function had returned, though she had been tired and had spoken with him only briefly before flooing back home. They had agreed Draco should arrive at the Potters’ first, to attempt to break the ice with her ex-husband before Hermione made an appearance. She had enchanted two coins, and when Draco rubbed his, Hermione’s would glow, signaling her to join them.

When she had left him Thursday after only ten minutes of chatting, Draco had moped around the house afterward and snapped at his mother when she floo-called him. He had realized that night, angry at his bed’s emptiness and wrapped in a shroud of self-pity, that he was smitten with Hermione. He had fought against his infatuation in the ensuing 48 hours; he didn’t want to open himself up to new heartbreak, and he knew Hermione didn’t return his depth of feeling. But as he dressed for the dinner party this evening, he decided that, heartbreak risk or not, he wanted to see her, which entailed being nice to her friends. He plastered a smile on his face and followed Harry to the back yard.

-o~0~o-

Draco walked onto the back patio, illuminated by the evening sun and floating candles, and Mrs. Potter, née Ginny Weasley, immediately enveloped him in a squishing embrace. _What the fuck?_ He hadn’t seen her in ages. “Malfoy,” she exuded, “we’re so glad you’re here!” She seemed sincere. He pulled back enough from her hug to see her eyes flick briefly to the Weasel, a spark of dark warning in them, as if to say, ‘ _don’t fucking open your mouth, Weasel.’_ Her brother looked back at her innocently and then sent an infinitesimal nod of acknowledgement Draco’s way.

Draco laughed at Ginny, surprised and flattered by her exuberant greeting. “Hi Weaslette, thanks for inviting me.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and punched him in the shoulder. “Potter or Ginny will do,” she replied, feigning a glower. He rubbed his shoulder—her punch packed some heat—as she stepped away, and her face morphed back into a smile. “We’ve missed your ferret-y face lately. I was surprised when Harry told me you moved in by Hermione.” She glanced at her brother, and, satisfied he was now in conversation with George and Angelina, asked, “How is she? She’s hardly responded to me in the past few months during their divorce finalization, and she was quieter than normal when we built the Quidditch pitch at the Burrow a couple of weeks ago. Have you seen her much since moving in?”

Draco searched Ginny’s eyes for signs of manipulation or curiosity about his connection with Hermione, but he found only sincerity and concern for her friend. “I think she’s okay,” he responded. “Though I have little previous relationship with her for comparison, and I haven’t seen her much; I’ve not even been in the new house a month yet. I’d say she’s not great, but doing okay. Which, two months post-divorce, seems pretty good?”

Ginny sighed. “I know it’s hard on them both. Ron’s probably about the same; I think he’s just hiding it better. Well, what can we get you to drink?”

“Your husband’s opening a bottle of Ogden’s; I’ll take a glass of that.” 

“Oi, Ferret!” George Weasley stepped over to them. Suppressing an eye roll, Draco turned away from Ginny toward the male Weasleys present.

“Hi, Weasley,” Draco drawled at George, nodding. Then he turned to Ron and nodded again. “Weasel.” Then he turned to Angelina, standing next to George, and nodded, “Angelina, delightful to see you.”

“Hey!” George exclaimed, “Delightful to see my wife but all I get is ‘Weasley’ and a nod?? I’m offended, Ferret!”

Draco smiled for real this time, responding, “Malfoy largesse only goes so far, Weasley. I’m afraid it doesn’t extend to the men of your family. Your lovely wife, however…” He trailed off and gave Angelina his most charming smile. He had seen the way her eyes had run over him when he walked through the back door.

Angelina held her hand out to him in greeting, and as he took it, she responded, “Enchanted, Malfoy.” He kissed the back of her hand with a wink. He hadn’t engaged in such traditional etiquette in ages, but Angelina had always liked a good joke, and their audience found the performance amusing. Except for the youngest Weasley male, who stared icily at Draco, his frame exuding distrust. Draco sighed internally. _Time to chat up the arsehole._

Before he could attempt conversation with Weasley, Teddy bounded through the door with a loud “Hullo.” The Potters welcomed him, and Teddy—tall as Draco now and even broader from his security detail physical training—gave his cousin a big hug.

“Didn’t know you were coming tonight, Cuz. How’s the new house?” Teddy asked, as Draco accepted a firewhiskey on ice from Harry.

Whiskey sliding smoothly down his throat, Draco chatted with Teddy about his move and Teddy’s recent work trip to New York. After a bit, Draco wound down their discussion, listening for a break-in point in the Weasleys’ conversation. He needed to make some progress with the Weasel if Hermione was going to be able to join them anytime soon. The thought of seeing her curls and curves walking onto the patio outweighed his displeasure at making idle chatter with her ex-husband.

Weasley was discussing his clients with his brother and Angelina. _Ah, work_ , Draco thought. _What better way to butter up the Weasel than get him waxing on about the Quidditch stars he represents?_ Ron was a Quidditch agent—quite a good one, as much as it pained Draco to say it.

“So Weasel…y…” Draco broke in at a pause point, “I heard you got Bimby and Midgen much better deals this year trading them from the Cannons. Sounds like the Harpies will really benefit from having Bimby in the Chaser position; she was stellar on the Cannons last year.”

Ron loosened up a bit, explaining how the trade had benefited his clients, and how the Cannons thought they had a win with the player they had picked up in place of Bimby and Midgen. Draco nodded along, interjecting questions here and there, and five minutes into the conversation, as Ron started talking more animatedly, Draco rubbed the coin in his pocket, letting Hermione know it was time to arrive.

* * *

The blasted coin finally lit up. Hermione had given up reading ten minutes ago and was now pacing her kitchen, coin in one hand and wine goblet in the other. At the coin’s luminous glow, she set down the half-finished wine—a failed attempt to quell her nerves before arriving at the Potters’—and wondered, yet again, why she had encouraged Malfoy to attend tonight.

Touching up her appearance in the mirror one last time, she smoothed her hands down the front of her fitted burgundy pants, slid her feet into her heeled boots, and slipped a dark denim jacket over her white camisole, shaking her long curls out on top of it. Though she was nervous about being around Ron and Draco together, she craved another hit of Malfoy-induced butterflies now that she was feeling better. 

She was grateful for Draco’s assistance Wednesday evening, though she had felt self-conscious about her physical weakness and her disheveled appearance, and uncertain about where they stood with each other. But he had been so tender, so concerned… and despite her hesitance to accept his help, she knew she couldn’t have made it through the evening without him, unless she’d called Ginny or Katie. Even in her diminished state, she had marveled at how he made her feel cherished and secure.

She relished the buzz she felt in his presence, and her body’s response to him argued louder than her brain’s hesitation to get involved with someone so soon after her divorce. She stepped into the floo, calling out “Potter Residence, Godric’s Hollow,” and ten dizzying seconds later, she walked into the Potters’ living room and made her way toward the back yard. Ginny greeted her in the kitchen with a bracing hug.

The redhead whispered in her ear, “As the single lady in the house, you’ve got some delectable eye candy tonight, Hermione. Watching all the muscles flex while Teddy and Malfoy hugged earlier was enough to make me cream my knickers. Enjoy the view, and I hope your toys have working batteries when you get home!” Ginny winked at Hermione as she stepped back.

Hermione felt her cheeks flush, but she was determined not to let Ginny have the last word, emboldened by the arousal she felt at the prospect of seeing Malfoy. “Well if I took one of them home, I wouldn’t need batteries, would I?”

Ginny looked shocked for a moment, accustomed to Hermione being the more modest of the two of them. Hermione burst out laughing and continued, flippant, “Harry told me earlier this week—in front of Draco, I might add—that I should recruit Teddy for my ‘post-divorce rebound boy toy’.” Ginny looked at her, wide-eyed in surprise. “It might be fun to see the expression on Ron’s face if I spent the night flirting with Teddy! But, attractive as he is, there’s the whole pseudo-aunt thing going on with him that would make it a bit creepy, eh?”

“I can’t believe Harry said that to you!” Ginny laughed, shaking her head.

Hermione giggled, releasing some of the nerves that had built up while she waited for Draco’s coin signal. “I think it’s your influence, Gin…”

Ginny cackled, “You’re probably right.” Ginny grabbed her hand and dragged Hermione toward the back yard. 

Teddy and Malfoy were engaged in conversation outside the back door, and Ginny hadn’t been kidding about the eye candy. Both standing around six feet tall, broad shouldered, and impeccably dressed, they had clearly gotten the best of the Black genes. Platinum hair glinting in the bright evening sun, Draco wore a steel blue merino wool jumper over a white collared shirt and dark Muggle jeans that hugged his bum ever so nicely. His sinewy forearms were on display below his pushed-up sleeves, and her chest contracted in desire. 

Her stomach dropped as he turned around and made eye contact with her. His silvery eyes roamed over her body and turned dark, pupils blowing wide, as he gazed at her. His face belied a mixture of hunger—sending fire straight to her groin—and relief at her presence. Though they had agreed they should stay physically distant from each other tonight, he looked delectable; a hug couldn’t hurt, and it would be rude not to…

She reached out to Teddy first, who enveloped her in a giant embrace as they exchanged greetings. He wore his hair a sandy brown color tonight, a change from the turquoise he sported most often. It suited him well, as did his recent training stint in America. He must have gained two stone of extra muscle since she’d seen him last. She understood why the interns in Harry’s office went wild over him; she would too, if she were 15 years younger. However, Hermione had eyes only for the man standing next to him.

She stepped over to Draco, attempting a friendly hug that wouldn’t raise eyebrows. She instinctively lifted her head toward him, her reflexes intent on kissing him in greeting, and he did the same, looking down at her. Desire coursed through her under his gaze, and she chanced a glance down to his mouth, feeling a momentary thrill at the thought of his soft lips on hers.

She was aware of Ron, George, and Angelina standing nearby, and reluctantly released him. His hands lingered briefly on her arms, fingers squeezing her lightly before he let her go, sending another wave of heat to her core. Hermione quietly cleared her throat while Draco brought his glass to his mouth, a pink flush beginning to creep up his neck. He tugged at his collar and took a large swig of whiskey, closing his eyes as it made its way down his throat.

As Hermione attempted to regather her wits, Harry stepped over and enveloped her in a hug as well. She put in her drink request – “Firewhiskey, please,” God knows she needed something strong to get through tonight without jumping Draco or fighting with Ron – and then she greeted the rest of their party.

She stood between Teddy and Draco, unable to bring herself to move from in between these two fine specimens of masculinity. She swore she felt tendrils of Draco’s magic reaching out to her own. She knew she was just imagining it, but it felt so pleasant standing next to him as her first sip of firewhiskey burned a satisfying path down her throat, that she abandoned their previously agreed-upon plan to stay physically separated.

She listened while Ron and Draco talked about Ron’s work—God bless him, Draco had figured out the best icebreaker he could have landed on—and she turned to Teddy, asking him about his recent trip to New York. They chatted about his new position as head of the Minister’s security detail; he was the youngest head of security in recorded history, courtesy of his brilliance, his advanced training in America, and his Metamorphmagi abilities.

Hermione’s first glass of firewhiskey went down easily as the group chatted in the evening sun, eating crisps and crudités from starter platters Ginny and Harry had laid out. Draco and the rest of the group seemed to be getting on well, and even Ron seemed to be relaxed, though he kept glancing at her. She felt pleasantly buzzed from the firewhiskey and the bit of wine she’d had before she came. 

Draco must have felt his whiskey as well, because his hand landed several times on her lower back, before he remembered himself and pulled it away. She didn’t say anything to him for fear of calling others’ attention to it, and frankly, she enjoyed the heat that shot through her each time he touched her.

Her earlier nerves were mostly washed away halfway through her second glass of firewhiskey, replaced with contented joy at Draco’s presence next to her and immense gratitude for the small group of friends surrounding her. Hermione’s whiskey-induced gratitude even extended to Ron: he wasn’t a bad person, he was just bad as her husband; he made a terrific friend, brother, and father. She was blessed that their divorce had been amicable, and that they could see each other in social settings without it being too awkward. Why had she been so nervous earlier? Clearly, she had been worried over nothing.

She was talking with Draco and Ginny about the redhead’s upcoming season with the Harpies—Ginny was their head offensive coach—when George interrupted with, “Oi, Malfoy, Hermione… Harry says you two’re neighbors now.” George’s brows twitched with mischief. “How’s that going? Killed each other yet?”

Draco laughed, and Hermione rolled her eyes at George. “Last I checked my heart was still beating quite steadily.” She stepped closer to Draco’s side and placed her fingers on his wrist, feeling his pulse point. “Hmm, can’t feel anything there.” She smiled up at him, amused, and he looked down at her, laughter and desire both present in his gaze. “Either I’d be a terrible healer, or you’re dead and just don’t know it,” she winked.

Draco grabbed her fingers and brought them up to his neck, just under his jaw. “Feel it now, Granger? Definitely beating.” His pulse throbbed steadily against her fingers, his warm skin a contrast to the cold pads of her fingers that had been holding her glass of whiskey on ice. Draco’s eyes went dark again as they stared at each other a beat too long, before she withdrew her hand and looked at George.

She smiled softly. “Yes, still beating. Seems we haven’t killed each other yet.”

Ron interjected, surveying her and Draco coolly, “Surprised you wanted to live in a Muggle neighborhood, Malfoy.”

“You do know I work with Muggles in most of my businesses, right?”

“Yeah, but they make you a profit. Didn’t think you’d want to surround yourself with them at home.”

Before arriving tonight, Hermione had expected Ron to be surly, but his subsequent calm demeanor had lulled her into a false sense of serenity. She scowled at him. “Ron, that’s out of line, come on.”

Draco touched her lower back briefly. “It’s alright, Hermione.” Then he smirked at Ron. “Well, living in a Muggle neighborhood makes it that much easier to spy on their non-magical arses and figure out how to exploit them for profit. It’s all part of my wicked plan for global conquest, Weasley. Pretend to be an upstanding citizen working to improve magical and Muggle lives, while really, I’m executing my depraved plot to take over the world.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at her ex-husband. “Yes Ron, his new home is just a disguise for his secret underground lair of evil.”

Ron spluttered, while George sniggered next to him. George asked Hermione, “So you’ve been playing James Bond? What’s this secret underground lair look like?”

Hermione said dryly, “Well obviously, I haven’t seen it; it’s secret,” while Draco asked, “Who’s James Bond?”

Eyes sparkling, George responded, “He’s a Muggle movie spy. James Bond, Austin Powers, Kingsman… Any of those ring a bell?”

Draco shook his head no, while Hermione started to giggle at the confused look on Draco’s face. She was accustomed to seeing him perfectly composed and poised; his bewildered expression was adorable.

George continued, “They’re British spies who take down evil villains intent on world domination. Ask Hermione to show you one on Muggle telly sometime; they might give you some good ideas for your nefarious plan. But I have to warn you, the good guys always win.” He winked at Draco, then turned back to Hermione. “So, if you haven’t seen his evil lair, how do you know it exists?”

Hermione played along, the firewhiskey encouraging her wit. “I had a house tour,” – she flushed a bit at the memory of their erotic evening together – “and I saw the door labeled ‘Evil Lair, This Way’.” She giggled and turned to Draco, shrugging her shoulders in mock apology. “Sorry Malfoy, I wasn’t trying to snoop but the sign kind of gave it away.” George and Angelina snickered loudly, and Ron looked on with narrowed eyes.

Draco chuckled. “That’s okay, Granger. I thought about kidnapping you and tying you up, with your Muggle heritage and all that, but figured people might notice if you went missing.” His smirk grew bigger as he gazed at her. 

Hermione’s cheeks flushed a telltale pink, and she let another giggle escape as she stared up into his beautiful gray eyes; they held each other’s gaze a stroke longer than fitting for casual acquaintances, before Hermione blinked and turned away, breaking the spell. 

Ron at this point had turned as red as his hair, while George and Angelina exchanged amused glances, and Harry and Ginny looked at each other nonplussed. Harry cleared his throat and took a sip of his drink, making eye contact with Hermione over the top of his glass, a sharp question in his gaze. Hermione quickly looked away, gazing down at her hands in embarrassment. The silence was thick – awkward – and Hermione inched away from Draco.

Only Teddy seemed oblivious to the tension, crunching on salt and vinegar crisps, which sounded loud in the sudden quiet; but shortly he spoke up. “Speaking of world domination and tying people up,” he eyed Draco shrewdly – clearly not as insensible to the charged atmosphere as he’d seemed – “I’m accompanying the Minister on a trip to Romania in two weeks. 

“There’ve been incidents the Romanian Ministry is trying to keep quiet, connected to an extreme faction in their Wizengamot. We haven’t been given clearance on the details yet, but they’re claiming the coronavirus pandemic establishes wizards as a superior race, and their Auror department has uncovered some sort of kidnapping plot. I don’t know much more right now; we’ll learn the details after we portkey to Romania.”

Teddy was deluged by concerned questions. Hermione was thankful he’d taken the attention off her and Draco’s careless display of familiarity, but disquiet crept through her at the implications of Teddy’s disclosure. 

Could this be related to the rumors Draco had heard? She had wanted to ask Draco about it ever since he mentioned it to Harry earlier in the week, but she hadn’t felt well enough mid-week to bring it up, and the conversation was too chaotic right now to probe further. She joined in as the group asked Teddy for more information about conditions in Romania.

Teddy knew little at this point, and the conversation became speculative quickly. However, Hermione felt increasing unease as they discussed the implications of this type of sentiment washing through wizarding society at large. 

Draco remained mum about whatever rumors he’d heard from Narcissa. Hermione almost asked him about it, but she assumed he had good reasons for remaining silent on that topic. Harry must have had a similar thought, as he didn’t bring it up either. She did catch Harry glance at Draco sharply when Angelina asked if the Ministry thought there was a similar threat in England.

When the speculative conversation had run its course, Harry and Ginny disappeared into the kitchen and returned with drinks and their meal, levitating them onto the back table; the fragrant scent of a springtime feast drew the party to their chairs.

-o~0~o-

Dinner quickly restored the party’s equilibrium after the charged discussion with Teddy, and there was now a low hum of conversation around the table as they finished their meal under the setting sun. Hermione was enjoying the last bites of her steak, talking with Ginny about their summer plans once the school year ended. Ginny glanced around the table and, satisfied that everyone else was engaged in their own discussions, gave Hermione a scrutinizing look. She then looked meaningfully at Draco and turned back to Hermione, raising her hands and shoulders in question.

Hermione shook her head and murmured, “Not here.”

Ginny’s brows rose nearly to her hairline, and a smirk crept across her face. Ginny raised her voice a bit. “Hermione, help me pull dessert together in the kitchen?” She looked down the table to her husband at the other end. “Harry, babe, can you send the dinner plates in when everyone is finished?”

Hermione glared at Ginny, vexed at being roped into a private conversation about Draco while “getting dessert.” She silently followed Ginny into the kitchen and leaned against the breakfast bar, crossing her arms in annoyance.

Ginny waved her wand at the cupboard, sending a bottle of sweet dessert mead and glasses onto the worktop. “You sneaky girl. You threw me off earlier tonight, joking about taking Teddy home. You had your eye on Malfoy the whole time. Did you lie about what Harry said to you, too?”

Hermione barked out a laugh. “No, Gin, that was true; your husband did, in fact, suggest Teddy as my post-divorce boy toy. It was highly embarrassing, I might add.”

“Yes, Harry’s not known for his tact. And I’m sure it _was_ highly embarrassing if he said it in front of your _actual_ boy toy.”

Hermione frowned. “He’s not a boy.” _Heavens no, he is 100 percent man, and I am dying to get back in his pants._ Ginny smirked further at the dreamy look on Hermione’s face, jerking her back to reality. “And he’s not mine,” Hermione emphasized.

“Looks to me you have only to say the word, and he would be.”

“Gin, I told you I don’t want to talk about this here. It’s complicated.”

“Doesn’t seem complicated to me. You’re both single, he’s hot as fuck, and you both clearly want each other naked.”

Hermione’s cheeks heated. Yes, she did very much want him naked, and she had been debating all evening whether she wanted to spend the night with him tonight after they left the Potters’. “It _is_ complicated, Gin. Ron hates Draco. Ron is my ex-husband. I’m at a dinner party with Ron and Draco together. Ron would be very upset if Draco and I were involved. I’m not ready to deal with the fallout.”

Ginny lowered her voice. “I think that ship’s sailed, Hermione. Ron probably knew you were hot for Malfoy before anyone else here; he knows you better than any of us. You and your boy toy” – Hermione grimaced at Ginny’s moniker for Draco – “haven’t been able to keep your eyes off each other since you arrived. After your little bondage flirtation before dinner, I don’t think there’s much use trying to hide it. You two looked ready to devour each other earlier, and I could have cut the sexual tension with a knife after Malfoy commented about tying you up. Teddy did you a favor by changing the subject.”

Hermione stared up at the ceiling. “Why did I think this would be a good idea? What was I thinking encouraging him to come?”

“What do you mean? Harry invited him tonight, not you.”

“Yes, but Draco asked me if I wanted him to attend. He was fully prepared to decline the invitation if I thought it would be awkward. Initially I wanted him to decline, but eventually decided that if he came, he could get to know you all on his own terms, perhaps become friendly with Ron” – Ginny snorted – “okay, attempt to become ‘not enemies’ with Ron,” Hermione amended.

Ginny nodded. “And…?”

“And what?” Hermione snapped. “Clearly it was a dumb idea, and I’m incapable of acting like an adult instead of a lust-addled teenager around Malfoy. If you think we were that obvious, I’m dreading talking with Ron.”

Ginny looked at her in sympathy. “Yes, you were that obvious.” Hermione flinched. “And yes, Ron can be a right arse sometimes, and I imagine he will be when it comes to Malfoy. But you aren’t beholden to each other anymore, Hermione. You’re single adults who can make your own decisions.” She grabbed Hermione’s hand and squeezed, and then pulled the brunette into a warm hug.

As Ginny stepped away, dinner plates came zooming into the kitchen, depositing themselves lightly into the sink. “I think that’s our cue to bring out dessert.” The redhead’s mouth turned up in a mischievous grin. “But quickly… has something happened already, or is this unresolved sexual tension about to combust?”

Hermione looked at Ginny and said pointedly, “I’m not answering that question.” Changing topics, she directed, “Here, you bring the dessert, and I’ll bring the drinks.” Hermione pointed her wand at the mead and glasses, levitating them in front of her as she followed the items toward the back door. 

Ginny muttered “Right-o” behind her and followed with a tray of biscuits and fruit and a stack of small dessert plates.

Draco entered the kitchen just as they reached the back door. “Heading to the loo,” he explained.

Ginny immediately took over the mead and glasses Hermione was levitating and said, “Hermione, I think we may be out of tissue in the loo. You know where it is, can you show Malfoy?”

Hermione glared at Ginny, her intention to give Draco and Hermione some privacy not at all subtle. Ginny glared back and jerked her head toward Draco, then promptly disappeared through the back door, leaving the two of them alone together in the kitchen.

Draco remarked, “She doesn’t have much subtlety, does she?”

Hermione grimaced. “No, she doesn’t.”

Draco grabbed hold of Hermione’s hand and dragged her toward the hallway, where they were no longer visible through the back windows. “I find I don’t mind her lack of refinement.” 

She regarded him for a moment, her pulse quickly accelerating under the intensity of his luminous gray eyes. He nuzzled his face into her neck below her ear, his lips finding her pulse point there. Hermione tilted her head back, giving him better access, and he let out a low growl as he licked and nipped along her jawline. Desire shot between her legs in response. 

She turned her head toward his, meeting his lips with her own, fireworks in her belly as their tongues touched. Draco wrapped his arms around her back, squeezing her flesh with his strong fingers, and she pressed into him, running her hands along his muscled upper back. They deepened the kiss, Hermione letting out a small moan as his hands lowered to her bum and pulled her tight against him. She brought her palms up, ruffling his platinum hair, smooth as silk under the pads of her fingers. 

It had been over 20 years since she had felt butterflies like the ones he gave her, and she decided this sensation was the silver lining of divorce. It was addictive, and she craved more, pressing into Draco like his touch was life-giving. They slowly moved against the wall, Hermione pressed between his firm body and the hard surface behind her. She panted into their kisses, aroused, and breath stuttering.

After some minutes, Draco withdrew, pressing his forehead against hers and breathing heavily. “Can I see you tomorrow?” he asked, fingers flexing against her hips.

“I’m spending the day with my parents tomorrow.” She smiled in apology, sincerely regretting her answer. “I have a deadline Tuesday and will likely work late Monday night. Tuesday evening, perhaps?”

“I’m meeting Harry for drinks Tuesday, to discuss the anti-Muggle rumors Mother passed on; they’re similar to what Teddy discussed, though no kidnapping.” Draco shivered briefly. “How about we give Côte Bistro another go Wednesday night?”

Hermione gazed at him, his eyes silver like mercury in the dim hallway light, and entwined her fingers with his. “I’d like that,” she responded quietly, and reached up to give him a last lingering kiss, imprinting the feel of his lips on hers, long enough to last her until Wednesday.

“I’ll meet you outside, love,” he murmured. His fingers lingered on hers for another beat before he withdrew down the hallway. Hermione turned and straightened her clothes and hair, then walked back outside, hoping her flush wasn’t too apparent under the reddening sky above. She scanned the table as she walked toward her chair; enchanted candles hovered overhead, lighting the party’s faces below. Ron glowered at her from the other end of the group, and she looked away.

She sat down next to Ginny, who eyed her then leaned forward, reaching out to Hermione’s face. “You have a lipstick smear…” Ginny’s fingers wiped the skin clean next to Hermione’s lips. “…just here.” The redhead sat back with a self-satisfied smirk.

-o~0~o-

When they finished dessert, Ginny sent the plates into the kitchen, and Harry invited everyone to join them around the firepit if they didn’t need to leave immediately. Teddy bid them goodbye; he had plans to go clubbing with friends.

Ron also said goodbye, trying, but failing, to hide his foul humor. “Thanks Harry, Gin. Dinner was delicious.” He gave his sister a hug. “You know your mash is my favorite.” Then he stepped to George and Angelina, embracing them each. “Great to see you two. George, I’ll stop by the shop this week; see you soon.” He moved toward the back door, then turned with a scowl, nodding, “Hermione.” He gave Draco the briefest of nods, displeasure etched across his face, and disappeared into the house to floo home.

Hermione wrung her hands and glanced around at her friends. George and Angelina had settled into a loveseat by the fire, nestled against each other with George’s arm draped across the back of the seat, a large shit-eating grin on his face. Anything that riled up Ron generally turned George into a smug git. Harry stood awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, and Ginny directed him to bring another bottle of mead out from the kitchen. Draco excused himself to help Harry with the drinks, saying he wanted more firewhiskey.

Hermione frowned. “Maybe I should go after Ron,” she said uncertainly.

“Nonsense,” George responded. “He’ll be better alone until he gets over himself. He just doesn’t like being upstaged by the ferret. You didn’t do anything wrong, and the rest of us would like your company here.”

Angelina chimed in, “Yeah, we haven’t seen you in ages, Hermione. Stay awhile longer.”

“Openly flirting with an ex-enemy in front of Ron two months after our divorce isn’t wrong?” Hermione’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Angelina responded, “I wouldn’t say you were openly flirting, Hermione. We’d all had a few drinks, and Ron was pretty nasty to Malfoy. I actually thought Malfoy’s response was brilliant, helped diffuse the situation.”

Hermione swirled her mead in her glass. “Well, Ginny thought we were openly flirting.” She looked toward Ginny. “You said you could have cut the sexual tension with a knife.”

George chimed in. “She’s right about the tension. The way you two look at each other, I thought you might spontaneously burst into flame. But it hasn’t seemed intentional.” He turned to his wife with a smirk and gazed into her chocolate eyes, taking several of her braids in his hand and caressing them. “Are you feeling any flames, babe?”

Ginny threw a pillow across the patio at them, hitting them both in the head simultaneously. “Stop it you two! You can’t create unresolved sexual tension after 20 years of marriage. The key word is ‘unresolved’.”

Angelina laughed as she leaned over to give George an open-mouthed kiss, provoking a groan of disgust from Ginny. After a few moments, George broke away and looked to Hermione. “So, is it?”

“Is it what?” Hermione asked.

“Unresolved,” Angelina supplied.

“I’m not answering that!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Not answering what?” Harry asked, as he followed Draco back outdoors.

“Nothing,” Hermione mumbled, cheeks heating again as she looked down at her lap.

George piped up. “We were just asking Hermione here—” but before he had a chance to finish his sentence, another pillow hit him in the face, this time from Hermione’s hand. “Okay, okay,” he laughed. “Message received!” He wrapped his arm back around his wife, as Harry dropped into a chair near Ginny. Draco sank into the one next to Hermione, placing one foot on the opposite knee and leaning back, relaxed.

The group settled into less mortifying conversation, and Hermione tried to push away her guilt at upsetting Ron and focus on enjoying the rest of the evening with her friends. After a while, she found herself getting sleepy and a little chilly under the night stars, and announced her intention to head home. Draco, George, and Angelina followed suit, and they exchanged goodbyes.

Hermione followed the others through the house to the floo and, one by one, her friends disappeared. On her turn, she threw the floo powder and called out “Granger House, Richmond,” and vanished into the green flames.

* * *

Hermione stepped out of her floo and immediately jumped, startled by Ron’s unexpected presence in her living room. He sat leaning forward on the sofa, elbows on his knees and head propped in his hands. He looked up as Hermione entered the room, his face red, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

She frowned. “You startled me, Ron; I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“How long has it been going on?” Ron’s voice came out strangled. “How long before our divorce?”

“I… What?” It took her a moment to make sense of his question, but before she could answer him coherently, he began talking again, louder this time.

“How long were you cheating with Malfoy before our divorce, Hermione? Was he the reason you wanted the divorce?” He ran his hands wildly through his hair. “And Malfoy?! Of all people?! I can’t believe I was so clueless. I thought we just weren’t a good fit anymore, that we didn’t work together. I didn’t realize you’d been cheating on me!” His voice cracked, and a tear leaked out, sliding slowly down his cheek. Her instinct, ingrained from over two decades together, was to reach out and wipe it away, to soothe his hurt that was misplaced and misinformed. Instead, she stood still, hands by her side.

“Ron,” she said firmly, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice and appeal to his logic. “I wasn’t cheating on you. The first time I’d seen Malfoy in ages was three weeks ago when we met after he moved in.”

“Hermione, I don’t believe that for a second. I may not be the most intelligent bloke out there, but I’m not stupid.” His anger was barely controlled.

“It’s the truth, Ron. I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that. I took our marriage vows seriously. I never cheated on you.” She pleaded with him. “Ron, you know me. You know I would never do that.”

“You seriously want me to believe that what I saw tonight was nothing, and that Malfoy just _happened_ to randomly move across the street from you right after our divorce? Hermione, I saw the way you two looked at each other. I know that look on your face. You couldn’t keep your eyes off each other. You almost kissed when you first walked in and hugged him; I could tell you had to stop yourself, like you’ve been doing it for months, or years.” His voice cracked again. “And that joke about tying you up? What the fuck was that? Do you two get off on bondage?” He put his face in his hands.

“Ron, stop it, listen to me…” Hermione interjected.

“No, you listen to me, Hermione. I was humiliated tonight. Everyone saw it.” He looked up, new tears rolling down his face. “Did they all know you’ve been cheating on me, and no one saw fit to tell me? Have Harry and Ginny known, and just kept quiet?”

She tried to speak, but he talked over her.

“And you called me out in front of everyone; you defended _Malfoy_ to make _me_ look bad tonight. Do you not remember how much of a bully he was to you in school? How he went out of his way to make you feel bad about being Muggle-born? He was a total shite—still is, in my opinion—and now you’re _fucking_ him?”

Hermione had had enough. “Ron, you are denigrating me and accusing me of things I haven’t done. Listen to me.” She held up her hand and ticked off facts on her fingers. “I did not cheat on you, not with Malfoy, not with anyone else. Ever. The first time I saw Malfoy, since whenever you and I last ran into him, was three weeks ago after he moved in. Malfoy did not know I lived here; he was as surprised as I was to find out we were neighbors. Our divorce was a shock to him.”

Ron shook his head in disbelief. “If all that’s true, then what the bloody hell was going on tonight, Hermione? How am I supposed to believe you when you spent the entire night eye fucking each other? Huh?”

Hermione sighed and sat down on the sofa next to her ex-husband, wishing fervently Draco had not joined them tonight. “Look, he invited me over for a drink and a house tour two weeks ago; it was the night before we worked on the Quidditch pitch at the Burrow. One thing led to another…” She paused. “I don’t think either of us were expecting it, and frankly, I felt very conflicted about it.” She looked into Ron’s eyes. “Our divorce is very fresh still, and I’m not ready for something with someone else yet.”

She looked back down at her hands. “Then we had lunch in the park a couple of days later, and I basically said that to him, said that I wasn’t ready for anything serious—with him, or with anyone; our divorce is still too recent.” She absently brushed cat hair off her pants and looked back up at Ron. “He had some travel to France after that, and we didn’t see each other for a week or so, but then he asked me to dinner this past Wednesday.”

Ron scowled.

“I accepted, but then I had one of my episodes at work Wednesday. It was pretty bad, and I came home and fell asleep.” Ron’s scowl softened somewhat, and his brows furrowed in concern. “Draco came by to pick me up for dinner, and obviously, I didn’t feel well enough to go. He stayed with me for a few hours, helping me and getting me supper, and he came over the next morning to help me get ready for my meeting in Germany. My arm still wasn’t working well.” She rubbed her left arm, soothing the ghost memories of pain. “That’s all.”

She continued, “I was on a floo call with Harry when Draco stopped by to ask me to dinner, and Harry invited him to the party. Draco was going to decline if I wanted him to, but I encouraged him to come. He’s heard some rumors from Narcissa that have him worried—potentially related to Teddy’s news about the Romanian problems, I don’t know, we haven’t had a chance to discuss it yet—and I thought if he came to Harry’s, he might be able to talk to you about it, too. Clearly, that didn’t happen, and the whole thing was a bad idea.” Her tone was dry and self-deprecating.

Ron let go of some of his anger. “Hermione, why didn’t you call me when you had your episode? You know I’d have come to help you; you don’t need to do it by yourself.”

Hermione turned to face him. “Ron, I didn’t think about it at first; I just came home, took some potions and medicine, and went to sleep for the rest of the afternoon. But I’d probably have called Ginny if Draco hadn’t come by. You don’t need to take care of me, and I shouldn’t be depending on you anymore. We gave that up when we signed the papers.”

“Hermione, I still care about you and your wellbeing!” Ron strangled out. “Just because we signed papers doesn’t mean I can’t help you when you need it. I’ve been the one supporting you through this, all these years; I know what you need.”

Hermione placed her fingers on top of Ron’s, stroking the back of his hand. “I know you do. And I appreciate that you still want to help me. I may take you up on it, when it happens again in the future. But this time, I was okay. Draco stayed to help.” Ron’s hand flinched under hers, “And if he hadn’t, well, I needed to do this on my own this time; I would have called Ginny. Or Katie.”

She withdrew her hand, bringing it back to her lap, and forced herself to look Ron in the eye. “Do you believe me now? Do you believe that I wasn’t cheating on you?” Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes as she waited for him to answer. “Ron,” she whispered, “truly, I would never have done that to you. I loved you. I still love you, just differently now.” Wetness rolled down her face, and Ron reached up to wipe it away.

“Come here,” he muttered, and they leaned into an apologetic embrace, which took the place of the words neither of them had the heart to say. _I’m sorry for accusing you of cheating on me. I’m sorry for rubbing my fling with Malfoy in your face tonight. I’m sorry for not trusting you. I’m sorry for hurting you._

Tears streamed freely down Hermione’s face now, and she sniffled loudly into Ron’s shoulder. She stepped away to grab a tissue, wiping away the wetness and trying to smile at her ex-husband.

Ron stood. “Thanks for talking with me tonight Hermione. Malfoy’s still a git,” – Hermione let out a watery laugh – “but I feel better.” They gave each other a last embrace, which felt at once familiar and foreign, before Ron disappeared into the floo. 

-o~0~o-

Hermione sank back onto the couch, overwhelmed by tonight’s emotional rollercoaster. Hearing Ron say he still cared about her wellbeing and would have helped her through her episode made her feel… secure. Less lost and alone. She’d needed to get through her health issues without Ron this time around. But knowing she didn’t _have_ to handle it on her own, that he’d be there if she needed him, felt comforting. 

Ron had once been her rock, and she’d been his. They’d helped each other through the aftermath of the war, the night terrors, the trauma, the physical pain. They’d leaned on each other for everything through the years, until they hadn’t. Somehow over the course of their children growing up, she and Ron had grown apart. He had always traveled representing his Quidditch clients, and her travel schedule to ministries across the globe had increased with the start of her consulting business. Between days apart during trips, late evenings at work, attending to their children’s needs, time spent with friends, charities, and obligatory social engagements, their time together became less and less, and their flame petered out. 

They had tried to restore it. A vacation to Turkey while Hugo stayed with Molly and Arthur. Weekends to the countryside. Date nights to Diagon Alley. None of it worked. They went through the motions, unable to rekindle the spark they’d once had. Ron’s pettiness and insecurity grated on Hermione as she matured and made her way in the world; and her independence made him feel unneeded, while her desire for control pushed him away. In the end, they hadn’t been able to make it work, and it had felt like the worst kind of failure. 

She appreciated Draco’s help last week, but depending on him had felt foreign, disorienting. They were navigating the beginnings of a tentative, shaky relationship that she knew in her heart she wasn’t ready for. It stood in stark contrast to the comfortable routine she had developed with Ron over the decades.

Maybe she needed to forget about this silly infatuation with Malfoy. She was attracted to him, but not ready for the emotional work of a new relationship when she hadn’t fully allowed herself to grieve the death of her old one. She wished she’d reconnected with him six or twelve months hence, rather than now. Malfoy was caring; patient; captivating. He didn’t deserve her inconsistency and ambivalence. She would have laughed at the irony, given their history, had she been able to be more objective.

Her thoughts went round and round, with no answers forthcoming. One moment, she felt she should give her fledgling dalliance with Malfoy a chance, despite her reservations. The other, she felt she needed time on her own, to grieve and find herself again. 

She rubbed the diamond pendant on her neck, an heirloom from her grandmother, whose middle name she shared. Nanna would tell her she’d find her way, not to worry. And she always did. Eventually, she turned off the lights and made her way upstairs, resolving to give herself grace, try not to run from her feelings, and trust herself.

* * *

Draco stared out his bedroom window, across the dark night to Hermione’s house as her lights flicked off. When he had arrived home, he had considered going to her house for a continuation of their hallway encounter at the Potters’. However, when he’d glanced across the road, Ron had been sitting in her living room, gesturing angrily. Hermione had been out of view, but he presumed they’d been arguing.

Draco hated to spy, but he hadn’t trusted the Weasel to keep his temper after tonight; so he’d settled into a chair by the window, book in hand, occasionally glancing out. After some time, he’d looked over and spotted them standing. They’d embraced briefly, and then green light had flashed in the room, presumably indicating Ron had left. Draco was now in bed, their argument weighing heavily on his mind. He pondered sending her an _Affectio_ globe, using the spellwork she'd taught him, but was unsure how welcome the gesture would be. He flicked his curtains closed, hoping she was okay, and settled into his empty bed in the dark.

* * *

_A/N: This chapter has been the hardest to write of the seven chapters I've written so far. If you liked it or have constructive criticism, please consider leaving a comment! They make my day and help me get better as a writer. Thanks!_


	6. Explorations (Violet Shadows)

Draco scanned the room and found Potter seated at a high top table in the corner, still sporting his silver-gray work robes. They had agreed to meet at The Alchemy Room, a new establishment in Diagon Alley owned by Gregory Goyle. Sleek and industrial, the restaurant and bar was filled with well-dressed, well-heeled patrons, and the din of the crowd assaulted his ears as it bounced off the hard surfaces of the space. 

He made his way across the room to greet Harry, and heads turned in fascination: Draco cut a striking figure, his coiffed platinum hair contrasting elegantly with his fitted gray Muggle business suit. He had made Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelors list last month, and he’d found himself the recipient of far more attention than he’d wanted since. Tonight was no exception. 

As Draco approached Potter’s high top, the tables around them went briefly quiet. It wasn’t often one of the wizarding world’s richest businessmen and the Chosen One sat at the same table. Draco nodded at the head Auror as he settled onto the barstool. “Thanks for meeting me, Potter.”

“No problem, mate. How’s the start of your week been?”

Draco ran his hand through his short fringe. “Long.”

Harry looked at him in question

“Just business dealings, nothing in particular,” Draco replied. _I haven’t seen nor heard from Granger since your party Saturday night; I saw her quarreling with Weasley through the window after, and I’ve no idea if she still wants to see me or not._ Since witnessing their argument, he’d been mentally preparing for her to cancel their dinner date tomorrow evening.

-o~0~o-

After receiving their first round, they clinked their glasses together with a joint “Cheers.” Potter leaned against the low back of his barstool and cast a discreet _Muffliato_ to block their conversation from surrounding ears. The Auror’s fingers tapped the side of his tumbler as he eyed Draco. “So, I’ve been curious about these rumors you’ve heard. I figure there’s a reason you didn’t bring it up when Teddy talked about his Romania trip on Saturday?” 

Draco took a sip of the amber whiskey, appreciating its burn in his throat, and nodded. “I didn’t want any rumors tracing back to my mother or mother-in-law as the source. One mention to the wrong person, and this could travel like Fiendfyre.” 

The blonde shifted back in his seat and recounted Narcissa’s news to Harry—the Sacred 28 anti-Muggle letter to the Prophet and, more alarming, Flint and Bulstrode’s legislative effort to isolate Muggle-borns and Muggle spouses from the rest of wizarding society. Potter stared at Draco, asking a few clarifying questions here and there as he listened. Draco finished, asking, “Have you heard anything about what Flint is working on?”

Potter rubbed his stubbled chin. “No, not a word. I don’t see Flint often—just at monthly DMLE department head meetings. Our divisions don’t interact much. Never thought of Flint as a dodgy bloke. But he’s only been leading the Administrative Registration Department for a year or so; he started a few months after the pandemic began. I don’t really know him.

Harry continued, “He came from the private sector, but he’s been on the Wizengamot for ages. I think he was a president at a private investment firm; I remember thinking he must have taken a big pay cut to move to the Ministry.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “His previous position as an investment manager doesn’t sound particularly relevant to managing the Registration Department. Do you think he took a pay cut to work at the Ministry, specifically to work on legislation to suppress Muggle-borns?” 

“Doesn’t sound too far-fetched, if the rumors you’ve heard are true.” Potter’s finger traced the rounded rim of his tumbler. “Now Bulstrode… I work with her more than Flint. Her Health Division sets the health and safety protocols for us to use in the field. She became division head around the same time Flint did. To tell you the truth, I’ve been fighting her on some of the new safety protocols she’s put in place; she’s been a bit of a pain in the arse.”

Draco leaned forward, crossing his forearms on the smooth brushed steel tabletop. “Do any of her new protocols fit with anti-Muggle sentiment?”

“On the face of it, no. But she’s made more changes to procedures than we had in the previous five years. So, she could have an agenda. I’ll have my assistant put together a review of the changed protocols and regulations from her division and let you know what I find.”

Draco nodded, smiling grimly. “Has Flint made a lot of changes too?”

“Not sure, we don’t interact much with his division, and I never saw fit to pay attention to his topics on the agenda during meetings.” Draco suppressed an eye roll at this admission. “I’ll look through his department’s files, though, and see if there are any smoking guns there.”

Draco’s face twisted in confusion. “Smoking guns?”

Potter waved his hand. “Oh, Muggle metaphor. It’d be like a warm wand that’s recently been used for a crime of some sort.”

Draco looked at him, baffled, and Harry just waved him off as their server stopped by to take their order for a second round. Draco asked, “So, you said your threat level is slightly elevated... anything that seems suspicious or could have a connection to CoVID or pure-blood power?”

“Well, we’ve had an uptick in smuggling of illegal potions, some of which are highly volatile. And we’ve had a rash of break-ins and robberies at St. Mungo’s and some private group homes for elderly wizards. The volatile potions are the main reason our threat level’s elevated. We’re not sure what they’re being used for.

“All of the robberies have nicked potions, but some also took lab samples and duplicated health records. We’ve caught an employee responsible for one of the thefts at St. Mungo’s, but the other cases are still unsolved.”

Draco tapped his fingers against his glass. “What kinds of potions did they steal?” 

“I’m not sure; we have a list of them at the office.” Draco regarded him coolly, surprised at his lack of knowledge, and Potter shrugged back at him. “I’m the director, Malfoy. I’m involved in everything, and I don’t keep mental records of it all. We’ve analyzed what’s been taken to try to understand the motive behind the thefts—whether the potions can be sold on the black market or used in making other types of illegal potions. We haven’t reached any conclusions yet, though.”

Draco frowned at the man sitting across the table from him, who seemed to have a paltry amount of truly helpful information. “I wonder if there could be a link between these thefts and the rumors Mother heard.”

Harry looked dubious. “How do you link potion theft and anti-Muggle legislation?”

Draco was silent for a moment, sorting through the half-thoughts running through his mind. “I’m not quite sure, just thinking out loud here. We know Death Eater sympathizers are trying to use CoVID-19 to bolster pure-blood supremacy. Muggles are susceptible to it; wizards—of any blood heritage—aren’t. Squibs aren’t susceptible either, though we’re not entirely sure why, since they don’t have magic. 

“Research facilities and pharmaceutical companies across the globe are working on effective vaccines and antivirals, including PotionLab. Perhaps a Death Eater group is stealing potions and lab samples to experiment with; or to try to interfere with vaccine development. What if they stole health records and blood samples to gather data on blood purity of patients? Or maybe to search for traces of CoVID in patients, trying to show that half-bloods and Muggle-borns _are_ susceptible? What if they’re trying to reverse engineer the virus itself, to make non pure-bloods susceptible?”

Harry’s face morphed in horror. “Malfoy, that would equate to genocide and bio-terrorism. I hope you have an overactive imagination, and this has nothing to do with Death Eaters or the coronavirus. Though, certainly stolen lab samples and health records are concerning.”

Draco asked, “Would it be possible for you to share the list of stolen potions with me? I understand potion uses well, including applications they’re not typically indicated for. I wonder if I might make some connections that haven’t been considered so far.” 

Potter looked at Draco intently, trying to gauge whether this was important enough to break protocol for. Draco held his gaze, unwavering, and after a long silence, Potter nodded. “Yes, I can do that. Or, I could hire you as a contractor – an independent consultant helping us with these cases, since they’re unsolved. Everything would be completely above board, and we could put your potions knowledge to full use.”

Draco began to shake his head, uninterested in piling more responsibilities onto his already filled plate. 

Potter held up a hand. “No need to answer me right now, Malfoy; just think about it. Regardless, I’ll share the list of stolen potions with you; I think your insights could be helpful. 

The blonde nodded, satisfied. Then he drawled, “You’ve got quite a number of action items there now. Shall I send you a list, so you don’t forget?”

Potter smiled. “Bugger off, Malfoy.” 

-o~0~o-

Potter ended the _Muffliato_ spell, and the two settled into less foreboding conversation. Fingering his whiskey tumbler, Harry cleared his throat. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with you and Hermione…” Draco immediately began to protest, but Potter held his hands up and continued speaking. “…and I don’t _want_ to know what’s going on. But if you hurt her, I’ll hex you within an inch of your life, and if you two continue to act barmy together around the rest of us, especially Ron, you’re banned from my house and all future social activities with us.”

Draco narrowed his eyes and scoffed. “Believe it or not, Potter, I don’t consider being banned from your house or your social gatherings as punishment. In fact, the thought of never seeing the Weasel’s face again sounds rather like an incentive to ‘act barmy’.” Draco bit back further insults against Weasley’s person, and swigged down the last of his whiskey to avoid the temptation to continue running his mouth.

Potter frowned at him, and Draco remained silent, staring back passively. He wouldn’t give Potter the satisfaction of arguing with him further. Harry sighed. “Look, Hermione and Ron have been through a rough time, and neither of them needs more shite piled on. Frankly, I don’t blame Ron for storming out Saturday night. Being around you two was like watching a bad rom-com.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed to slits as he glared at Potter. “What’s a rom-com?” he scowled.

Potter barked out a short laugh. “A romantic comedy – a type of Muggle movie. Totally unrealistic plots, bloke does something incredibly romantic that no man would ever do in real life, the couple pledges their undying love by the end in the rain, or on a beach, or some equally silly setting.” He shivered in disgust.

“Anyway, my point is, whatever’s going on, don’t fuck with her. I don’t think she’s completely herself right now. And stay away from her when Ron’s around. He doesn’t need to see that…” Potter waved his fingers around, indicating the flirtation between Draco and Hermione, and shuddered.

“I’m not fucking with her, Potter.” He frowned. “Besides, I haven’t seen her since we left your house Saturday.” 

Harry scoffed. “I find that hard to believe. You’re neighbors, and you could barely keep your hands off each other Saturday.”

Draco held his hands up and looked openly at Harry. “It’s the truth.” Harry looked at Draco in skepticism. “I’m being honest, Potter. Nothing serious is going on between Hermione and me.” Draco’s face fell slightly. “I don’t even know if she wants to see me again after Saturday night.” He felt the chances were quite high that she’d call it quits with him completely after her fight with Ron. For the hundredth time, he wished he could go back in time and decline Potter’s dinner party invitation. 

“Fine,” Harry muttered. “I meant what I said though. Don’t fuck with her.”

“You have my word, Potter.” Draco held his hand across the table. The head Auror hesitantly took it, and they shook. They both stood as they unclasped their hands, and made their way out of The Alchemy Room, leaving a flutter of curious stares in their wake.

* * *

Draco arrived home from work Wednesday evening, hoping Hermione wouldn’t cancel on him at the last minute. Even if she did join him for dinner, would she tell him tonight that it was over between them? She’d been hesitant all along, and the quarrel with Weasley may have pushed her over the edge. Draco was due in France again tomorrow morning, and he didn’t relish the thought of leaving London on a low note. He released an audible sigh as he changed from his dress robes to his Quidditch gear.

He strode to his back shed with purpose, intent on working up a sweat and focusing solely on flying for the next half hour. The shed’s interior enlarged with a wave of his wand, revealing the Quidditch pitch and an enchanted blue sky above. He spent a half-hour repeatedly catching the golden-winged snitch and batting a bludger away, and by the time he finished, his arms and lungs burned and the flood of endorphins had lightened his mood. Back in his master suite, he stepped into the shower, damp from the exercise. He tilted his head back into the shower stream, blonde hair turning dark as it got wet. 

His thoughts moved to his upcoming night out with Pansy and Daphne. As he’d planned with his mother, he had invited the two women to dinner to discuss anything they might have heard about a Death Eater resurgence. They’d agreed to meet Saturday night, and Draco had proposed The Alchemy Room again. The three of them in Goyle’s trendy new night spot would likely attract attention from other members of the Sacred 28 and, if they asked the right questions, they might find out if pure-blood wizards of their generation were sympathetic to the Rowles’ ideas about pure-blood power.

Shower complete, Draco stepped out of the humid stall and dried off, skin pink from the heat and the vapor. Over the counter, his reflection stared back at him in the mirror. He feigned a smile, watching small lines fan out from the corners of his eyes. Astoria always told him those crinkles made him more handsome as he grew older, her violet-blue irises reflecting his gray ones as she gazed at him. He looked intently into his eyes in the mirror, searching for her violet ones reflected back. He saw only gray there. No blue. Draco broke his own gaze and looked down at the sink below, shoulders hunched as he leaned against the counter. He breathed deeply for several moments, then pushed off the gleaming surface and wandered to his wardrobe, bare feet slapping gently against the marble floor. 

Standing nude, he contemplated his clothing choices, then shimmied into black briefs and a pair of woven navy shorts. He shrugged into a pale blue short-sleeved button-down—Astoria’s ethereal eyes now made earthly on his body—and finished grooming, then made his way out into the bright evening.

* * *

Draco perused Côte Bistro’s menu as Hermione happily relayed the continued progress on the formation of the continental wizarding union. Balmy air wafted over them from the open restaurant front. Hermione looked enticing in a tight brown blouse with crystal buttons, unbuttoned low enough that, when she moved just so, he caught a hint of dark purple lace underneath. She wore Muggle jeans and sandals, red toenails peeping out. 

A quarter hour ago, Draco had approached her door tentatively, unsure what his reception would be. She had welcomed him with a wide smile and a fervent kiss. As soon as her tongue found entrance to his mouth and she pressed against him, his worries dissolved and he felt lighter than he had since observing her quarrel with Weasley. They had spent the 10-minute walk to Côte Bistro recounting their day to each other and laughing over Draco’s description of the wizened Ministry official he’d met with this afternoon. 

Now settled at their table, Hermione introduced the topic of her fight with Weasley. “So, Ron was waiting for me Saturday night when I came home.” She didn’t quite meet Draco’s eyes, her gaze hovering around the middle of his face.

“Yes, I saw him through the window,” Draco admitted. Hermione snapped her eyes directly to his, surprised. “I wasn’t spying. I had thought to floo over when we got home to… continue our hallway encounter.” His eyes burned at her. “But then I saw him through the window. He looked rather angry.” His tone went gentle. “I’m sorry Saturday night caused you trouble, Hermione. I never should have joined your party.”

Hermione started to reach across the table but stopped, bringing her hand back to her lap. “It’s okay. What’s done is done. Also, Ron wasn’t upset about _us_ , per se.”

Draco responded with disbelief, and Hermione shook her head. “No, truly. He was upset because he thought I was having an affair with you before our divorce.”

“Come again?” How had Weasley drawn _that_ conclusion?

“He could tell something’s going on between us, and he concluded that you moved in across the street because we’d been having an affair. Before the divorce.”

He barked out an incredulous laugh. It sounded ludicrous, but as he pondered it more, he supposed he could understand why Weasley might draw that conclusion. No wonder the redhead had been waiting in Hermione’s living room. “I’m so sorry, Hermione. I assume you explained. Did he believe you?”

“You don’t need to apologize, Draco. And yes, ultimately, he believed me. He said you’re still a git, though.” She chuckled, but it came out half-hearted. “Anyway, I had time to mull it over between then and now. I decided to just take each day as it comes. He and I will both end up dating new people at some point, and I suppose we’ve ripped the band-aid off now.”

“The what?” What the hell was a band-aid? Why did she and her friends keep bringing up Muggle terms he’d never heard?

“Seriously? You own a pharmaceutical business, Malfoy. How do you not know what a band-aid is?”

He regarded her, owl-like. “We don’t work with ‘band-aids’ at PotionLab. What are they?”

She shook her head in mock annoyance. “It’s a small adhesive bandage you put on a cut to keep it dry and help it heal.”

“That has nothing to do with potions or biotechnology,” he drawled. “Regardless, I don’t understand the metaphor in relation to dating.” She explained it to him. It really didn’t make sense, but he nodded anyway, and was thankfully saved from further conversation about Muggle bandages by the arrival of their dinner.

-o~0~o-

As they dug into their meal, Draco brought up the Death Eater matter. Hermione listened closely and asked a lot of questions. By the time they finished the conversation, Draco had paid the tab – he insisted, after the trouble he felt he’d caused Saturday with Ron – and they were down to their last sips of water. 

Hermione had no additional intelligence to contribute regarding the reports he’d heard from his mother. Though she met frequently with clients at the British and other countries’ ministries, she couldn’t think of any sentiments or activities that seemed remotely connected to pure-blood ideology. “At least, none more insidious than the typical underlying prejudices the older generation hasn’t quite let go of,” she muttered. Draco’s eyes softened in sympathy. “Regardless,” she said, “it’s helpful to know this may be happening. I’ll be more aware of what’s going on outside of my projects, and I’ll let you know if I observe anything that may be related.”

Leaving the restaurant, they stepped onto the sidewalk, the sky a faded watery blue as the sun sank low in front of them. Hermione turned to him, eyes bright. “Would you like to walk to the Terrace Gardens on the way home? We can watch the sunset from the top; the view is beautiful.”

Draco took her hand, relishing the contact. “I’d like that.” He bent down and kissed her soundly in the middle of the sidewalk, observers be damned. Being in Muggle London was incredibly freeing. No worries that paparazzi would snap their photo – blowing wide the Granger-Weasley divorce in the gossip columns – and no fawning admirers staring at the war hero and the rich, widowed bachelor. When he released her, she let out a breathy sigh, then wrapped her arm around his waist as they continued down the walk. 

They settled onto a low stone wall at the intersection of Richmond Hill and Friars Stile, where the trees opened up and the Thames Valley stretched below them under the setting sun. The early May air had become a bit nippy by 8:30 pm, and Hermione huddled into Draco for warmth. He stroked his hand along her upper arm as she leaned into him, and they silently took in the pinks, violets, and flaming oranges of the sky. They chatted, kissed, and embraced until the brilliant colors faded into a washed out purple-gray. With a last kiss, Draco reluctantly released her, and they hopped off the wall to make their way home in the gloaming.

* * *

Approaching their end of their block, Draco turned to her. “Would you like to come back to mine for a bit before we call it a night?”

She fixed her eyes on his in the twilight. “That sounds lovely.”

He gestured her into the house ahead of him, opening his door with a nonverbal _Alohomora_. He flicked lights on as they walked to the kitchen, the illumination a defense against the daylight fading through the windows.

He rummaged in the liquor cabinet. “Would you like a nightcap?”

She shook her head. “Water’s fine, thanks.”

He poured her a glass, then prepared a Glendalough on ice for himself. “Fancy a fly on the Quidditch pitch?”

Her eyes flicked up to his. “No thanks. Flying isn’t really my thing. Surely you remember my luck with the broom in Madam Hooch’s class at the beginning of first year? I haven’t gotten much better.”

Draco laughed, thinking back nearly 30 years. “I remember being an arse and stealing Longbottom’s Remembrall, and racing Potter for it… which then earned him a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.” He rolled his eyes at the memory. “My own stupidity resulted in Potter being the youngest seeker in a century.” He chuckled. “Served me right; I was an arrogant prat back then.”

Hermione snorted. “Yes, you were.” She crossed the distance between them and nuzzled against his front, sliding her hands around his neck. “But thankfully, you grew up.” She nipped at his jaw. “You’re delightful now.” She pushed her hips against him and kissed her way along his jaw until her lips met his.

Draco wound his fingers into her hair and pushed his hips back against her as he deepened their kiss, his broadness engulfing her smaller frame. They stood pressed into each other for several minutes, heat building where they touched. He wanted her prone, _now_ , with no clothing between them. 

He broke away and led her into the living room, sitting on the sofa and pulling her down onto his lap. She straddled him, and he reached up, slowly unbuttoning each crystal button on her blouse, revealing the deep purple lingerie that had been teasing him all night. He kissed along her neck and down her collarbone as she tilted her head back, winding her fingers into the silky hair of his crown. She sighed as he reached the last button and slowly pushed her top off her shoulders. 

He leaned back against the cushions and gazed at her half-naked body: her lace-covered breasts at eye level, brown curls draped across her chest. She ground down on his thighs and ran her hands over his torso, then started unbuttoning his shirt. He sat straight and finished the job for her, making quick work of his buttons and shrugging the cotton shirt off his arms into a crumpled ball behind him. 

She moaned again at the sight of his firm body—a benefit of the stress-relieving workouts he put himself through almost daily—and ran her fingers over his muscles, pressing her hands against his stomach, then rubbing up his chest, and back down his arms as he reached around to unclasp her bra. Her fingers lingered in the valleys where his rounded shoulders met his biceps.

As her breasts fell free of the confining lace, he sighed and bent forward to take each one into his mouth, licking and sucking until her nipples reached firm peaks under his tongue. She ground against his thighs again and then wordlessly summoned her wand to her. He stopped his ministrations for a moment as she flicked her wand, vanishing the rest of their clothes. 

“Hermione,” he breathed, “I… Merlin…” He grabbed his cock and stroked it briefly, trying to relieve some of the need that had built up there. She gazed into his eyes, and he felt a connection that sent a fever of desire through him. He wanted to devour her whole. They came together again, kissing feverishly, and she moved his hand from his cock and replaced it with her own. 

He shuddered at her touch, sucking in a breath and bucking into her hand. She smiled through their kiss and broke away, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Pushing him firmly back against the sofa cushions with her free hand, she shuffled forward in his lap, slotting herself over his head. She sank down slowly, rocking back and forth as she went. He grunted and threw his head back, pushing into her as he gripped her hips.

He dug his fingers into her yielding flesh and directed her movements, relishing the feel of being inside her. He looked down to where their bodies joined, watching himself slide in and out of her core; he felt he might come simply from the sight of her beautiful lips wrapped around him. A surge of disbelief flooded him. No one else got to see the Golden Girl like this but him, her folds currently swollen and glistening with her arousal, enveloping _his_ cock. 

He leaned forward, devouring her in an urgent kiss. She moaned into him, and he rhythmically pushed in and out of her, one thumb rubbing her clit while his other hand gripped the supple flesh of her hip. She keened against the sensations and her soft moans slowly rose in volume as he worked her into a frenzy. 

“Merlin, Draco, keep doing that!” She rutted against him violently, and he concentrated on bringing her off with his thumb while he watched her breasts bounce up and down inches from his face. He leaned forward and took a nipple into his mouth, sucking then biting the firm nub, hard. 

The combined sensations sent her over the edge; she ground into his crotch, his fingers, and his mouth all at once. Loud “oh’s” escaped her lips as the waves of her orgasm washed over her, and he felt more of her arousal leak onto his fingers where he still rubbed her. As she finished, her moans grew even louder and she rode him vigorously, pressing her knees deep into the cushions on either side of his body. 

The feel of his cock sliding in her while she bucked against him brought him almost to the edge. “Draco,” she murmured between moans, “you feel so good inside me.” She continued to ride him hard, and he grabbed her hips and moved her up and down forcefully, until euphoria shot through him and he emptied himself inside her. He continued to direct her movements until the sensitivity hit and he stilled her.

He panted for a few moments, then pulled her in for a languorous kiss. She collapsed against him. He could do this every night and every morning and not get tired of it. He’d been wanking more than he’d like to admit since she’d shown up on his doorstep several weeks ago, and the feeling of her body around him was much preferable to his hand. 

She eventually pulled off of him, casting a quick contraceptive charm and _Scourgify_ with her wand. Though he understood her desire to be clean, a primal part of him wanted her to remain next to him with his ejaculate inside her. _She’s not yours to claim,_ he reminded himself. _Not yet._

She settled back into his lap, sitting sideways, laying her head against his neck, her curls tickling his chin and chest. Her bare bum pressed into his leg, and he stroked her arse and thigh, relishing the contact with intimate parts of her no one besides him got to see or touch. Knowing he was the man bringing the wizarding world’s icon of goodness to oblivion… that was a high all its own. He wanted to take her to his bed and make love to her again. Merlin, he was much too infatuated with her. 

Eventually, he murmured, “Would you like to move this upstairs, love?”

She hesitated. “Not tonight. I have an early meeting tomorrow.” She turned to look at him. He could see wheels turning behind her expression, and he waited, silent. “I do have an early meeting tomorrow,” she reiterated, “but mostly, I’m… I’d like to sleep alone, in my own bed. It feels good, being independent.” She grimaced at turning him down. 

He tried to keep the disappointment from his face. He appreciated her honesty. “I’m glad you find the solitude pleasant.” He hated his own solitude and cursed the empty pillow next to him more nights than not. Until Hermione had come into his life several weeks ago, he merely wished for his wife’s presence. Now, he wished for Hermione’s wild curls to grace his pillow, the desire even stronger knowing that most nights she was only 100 feet away, separated from him by two brick walls and the night air. 

He wouldn’t press her. Instead he leaned in for another kiss, conveying as much of his desire and admiration as he could through his touch; at the very least, perhaps she’d fall asleep dreaming of him.

Hermione stood and dressed, and Draco followed suit. “Would you like to use the floo? They’re still connected.”

She shook her head. “The night air will be refreshing. Walk me home?”

“Certainly.” They padded across the street, Hermione shivering slightly in the cool breeze, and parted with a lengthy kiss on her doorstep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to the alphabet who helped me with this chapter: Astrangefan, canttouchthis, and highlyintelligentblonde. Additional chapter art is on tumblr at elizcoll1035. I'll post Ch 7 in two weeks. Happy Thanksgiving weekend to American readers!


	7. The Investigation (Red Dress)

Hermione returned home from a day full of meetings and went upstairs to quickly freshen up before Draco came to pick her up. He’d invited her to Flourish & Blotts for a book signing this evening by Otto Lilienbecker, the famous German potioneer. She hadn’t seen him in a week, since their date at Côte Bistro, and she was a little nervous about seeing him tonight. 

She’d originally appreciated having space away from him last weekend, but then Saturday night had happened... making her reconsider what she felt about their fling. She’d been on her sofa reading, having foregone a girls’ night out with Katie and Leanne, when Draco had returned home from his dinner with Pansy and Daphne. She’d seen the light flare in his front window, and wondered if he’d learned anything helpful about the Death Eaters, when she suddenly caught sight of a woman standing in his living room.

Reliving the scene in her head now, as she touched up her makeup in the mirror, her stomach roiled the same way it had Saturday night. She couldn’t believe he’d brought someone else home with him! The woman’s back had been to the window; she’d sported a slinky red dress, and her blonde hair was tied up in an elegant chignon. Draco had stood close to her before closing the curtains, and Hermione had spent the rest of the evening fretting. 

Even now, four days later, she pushed back feelings of jealousy and betrayal, telling herself she had no right to be angry with Malfoy. She had no claim on him. They were only casually dating -- Hermione had made sure of that when she told him she wasn’t ready for a new relationship and wanted to keep things light. He was technically free to bring home whomever he liked. She just hadn’t expected him to do so! 

After a terrible night of sleep Saturday, filled with dreams of him making love to a blonde woman in front of her, Hermione had spent the past several days asking herself what she wanted from… whatever this was… with Malfoy. She’d held him at arm’s length for the past month -- enjoying the amazing sex and appreciating his companionship, but pulling away at nearly every opportunity for more serious connection. 

She thought he’d probably be happy to date her exclusively if she agreed to it. She knew he was holding back from asking her to spend more time with him, trying to give her space, and she was grateful for it. She wanted to continue enjoying time with him, continue being desired by him -- god, it felt good to have him look her over with those smoldering eyes.

But she wanted it without pressure... without commitment. _But apparently_ , she had mocked herself over and over since Saturday night, _you don’t want to share him with anyone else_. It was the height of speciousness, she thought with dismay.

She didn’t want to lose Malfoy, but she couldn’t ask him to wait for her, either. It would be selfish to ask that of him, and vain of her to think he might do so. She’d come to the unhappy conclusion that, if she was going to continue dating him without committing to anything serious, she’d need to make peace with him seeing other women too. 

She frowned in the mirror as she dabbed on her lip gloss. She didn’t feel anything close to peaceful about him sleeping with other women. But she didn’t feel peaceful about committing to a real relationship with him so soon after her divorce, either. 

-o~0~o-

Hermione opened her door several minutes later, and Draco stood grinning at her on the front step. He had the faintest dimples in his cheeks, and her stomach jolted pleasantly at the sight of his smile, despite her irritation that he’d brought a lady friend home Saturday night. 

He looked stunning in his navy work suit and silk tie, and she reminded herself, not for the first time since Saturday night, that he was indeed one of the wizarding world’s most eligible bachelors. It would be naive of her to think he wouldn’t play the field if she insisted on keeping things casual between them; he likely had women falling all over themselves to get near him. The thought made her question what he saw in her; many of those women were probably ten years younger and perfect.

She did her best to smile back at him and push her insecurities away. Her confidence rose as his eyes roamed over her figure. She still wore her gray work skirt with a leopard print blouse, cropped jacket, and high heels, and his eyes lingered on her bare calves. He leaned down to kiss her gently, his tongue swiping across the seam of her lips, then wrapped his arm around hers and Apparated them to Diagon Alley. 

Hermione was quieter than usual as they walked to Flourish & Blotts, which Draco seemed to notice as he cast about for a topic of conversation. They spent a few minutes in slightly forced chatter about their work today when, unable to hold back any longer, Hermione asked, “How did Saturday evening at The Alchemy Room go with Pansy and Daphne?” She examined his face for any sign of his amorous night with the woman in the red dress, but she didn’t see a smirk or discomfort in his expression.

“It went well,” he replied, somewhat upbeat. “It wasn’t enjoyable listening to the Pure-blood drivel coming out of people’s mouths, but we learned a little bit about what’s going on.”

Hermione’s brows rose in interest.

“We picked The Alchemy Room because we figured the three of us would draw attention from other Sacred 28 witches and wizards.” He grinned sheepishly, not quite meeting her eyes, with this statement. “We ended up with people at our table most of the night, which was what we’d been hoping for.” He looked uncomfortable discussing the attention they had drawn, and she smiled brightly at him and nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“There were a lot of Pure-bloods there who think the pandemic shows Muggles, and basically anyone who’s not Pure-blood, are inferior -- more than I would have thought.” He grimaced. “Mother expected that; she told me I was naive to assume our generation doesn’t think that way anymore.” He glanced at Hermione with an apologetic expression, seeming to take on some blame for Pure-blood wizards’ prejudiced opinions.

“Draco, you’re not responsible for others’ views.” He began to argue with her, but she interrupted him. “You’re _not_. Your actions, your work ethic… you’ve worked with Muggles and wizards of all backgrounds for years, most of your adult life.” She looked up at his troubled face as they walked down the street. “Draco, you’ve proven who you are and what you stand for.”

He stopped walking, brows furrowed, casting about for a rebuttal. She glanced around and, confident no one was paying them any attention, grazed her fingers down the side of his neck. She might be upset that he was dating around, but she wasn’t going to let him castigate himself for other people’s prejudices. He leaned into her touch ever so slightly. “You’re a good person, Draco. I know you’re not a bigot. You can tell me what you heard without worrying that I’ll think you agree with those views.”

He took a deep breath and smiled at her. “Thank you.” His eyes crinkled further as his smile grew broader. “Has anyone ever told you how incredibly lovely and inspiring you are?”

Now it was her turn to grin sheepishly, momentarily forgetting her conflicted feelings about him seeing other people. She licked her lips, drawing his eyes down to the movement, and he looked around then tugged her into a nearby alleyway and kissed her soundly. When they came up for air, he let out a short laugh. “I feel like I’m 16 again, hiding in dark alleys for a snog!” 

Hermione felt giddy too, and a laugh bubbled up at his silly statement.

His gaze turned more intense as she looked up at him. “I’d be happy to snog you right in the middle of Diagon Alley, but seeing as how your divorce isn’t public yet… I figure you wouldn’t appreciate that much.”

Hermione gave a dry chuckle. “No, I wouldn’t. Not yet.” She grinned up at him. “Give it another month or two once the kids are out of school, though. Then we can snog in the middle of Diagon Alley whenever you like.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized she’d just implied she wanted to see him longer-term and publicly.

Flustered, she started to back away from him, thinking of the woman from Saturday night and irritated with herself for sounding so eager. But a wide smile broke across his face, and he dove back in for another rousing kiss, effectively silencing all logical thought. When they finally broke apart and stepped back onto the main street, Draco picked up his story of Saturday night, and Hermione pushed her conflicted feelings away for later.

He cast a discreet _Muffliato_ to avoid being overheard. “We got the most information from Greg Goyle -- he owns The Alchemy Room.” Hermione nodded; she knew that. “Greg said a group of Sacred 28 members meets each month at his restaurant; he rents them one of the private chambers. I think they’re plotting how to re-establish Pure-blood power and anti-Muggle ideas, but Greg didn’t say anything specific. 

“I don’t think Greg knew whether he could trust me enough to tell me more. I mean, he’s right, he can’t… and part of me wishes he knew for sure he couldn’t trust me…” Draco looked at Hermione apologetically again. “But part of me wishes he did trust me so we could find out more about what they’re doing.” He twisted his lips, frustrated.

“What are you going to do?” Hermione asked. “Do you think you _could_ convince Goyle to trust you? Get invited to the meetings and find out what they’re doing?” 

Draco jerked his head toward her in surprise. He seemed tongue-tied and went briefly silent, pondering her words as they neared Flourish & Blotts. “I hadn’t thought about it. It _would_ be good for someone to infiltrate the group and find out what they’re planning.” He shook his head. “But I don’t think I’m the right person. My businesses in the Muggle word are too well known.

“And I really don’t want to listen to what they have to say. I did my time with the Death Eaters 25 years ago. I don’t want to relive it again.” He closed his eyes briefly.

“I guess that would be better suited to Harry’s department. They could have someone go undercover…” Hermione trailed off. They had reached the queue for the book signing, which stretched down the block from the bookstore. They took their place behind a witch in green robes, and Hermione was thankful for the cushioning charms in her heels; it looked to be a long wait. 

“Have you talked to Harry about it yet?” 

“Not yet. Mother and I are having dinner with him and Teddy at Andromeda’s this Friday to discuss it. Harry’s looked into some things at the Ministry, and Mother’s had tea with some Sacred 28 acquaintances.”

Hermione nodded. “Yeah, Harry told me a little about what he’s investigating. He asked me what’s been happening in the Department of International Magical Cooperation since the pandemic started.”

“Anything interesting?” Draco asked as they shuffled forward in the queue.

“Maybe. The department is interviewing for a new deputy head. I’ve worked with the director for years; she’d never hire a Death Eater sympathizer -- not on purpose. But three of the final candidates for the position could be Death Eater sympathizers.” She squinted, upset at the thought. “Harry thinks it’s possible there’s an organized plot to fill Ministry positions with Death Eaters.” She gazed at Draco. “He was really grateful you brought this up to him.” 

Draco gave her a wry smile in return.

Hermione continued, “There’s a new person in one of the British seats to the International Confederation of Wizards that Harry’s worried about, too. He’s a Sacred 28 Pure-blood, Aldrich Fawley. He’s kind of an arse, in that way older Pure-blood wizards are --” she let out an indelicate snort, “and he’s more conservative politically than I’d like, but he hasn’t done anything that seems like he has an anti-Muggle agenda.” She sighed, staring at cracks in the sidewalk as they slowly inched toward the bookshop. 

Turning to Draco again, she asked, “Did you find out anything else Saturday night?” She decided if he didn’t bring the other woman up, she was going to ask him about it. She wouldn’t be defensive or accusing, but she wanted everything out in the open between them.

“We did, actually. We heard about a Pure-blood supremacy radio program based in eastern Europe. The wizard who told Pansy about it spewed a bunch of nonsense about how the pandemic shows the power of blood purity.” He frowned at the memory. “I haven’t taken the time to try to find the radio program. I figure Potter’s group can handle that.”

“Anyway, the guy got a little too handsy with Pansy, and after he tried to make a move on her,” he shuddered, “we left. Pansy headed home, and Daphne came back to my house. My brother-in-law’s out of town right now, and Daph and I haven’t seen each other in awhile. So she came back with me and we spent the rest of the night catching up and remembering vacations we used to take together when all the kids were little.” A nostalgic smile graced his face.

Hermione did her best to hide her surprise. _Daphne was the woman in the red dress?_ _His sister-in-law?_ Relief flooded through her, though part of her remained unconvinced. She knew he could be an exceptional liar when he needed to -- he had survived Voldemort living in his house, after all. Yet he had been nothing but earnest with her since they first met up a month ago...

She quickly concluded he was telling the truth, as hard as it was to believe, after four days spent fretting over him and another woman. Merlin, she felt stupid. _It was a perfectly reasonable conclusion to jump to_ , she internally defended herself. Her demeanor instantly brightened, though if Draco noticed the change, he didn’t comment on it. 

“So what did you do Saturday night while I was out doing Potter’s work for him?”

Hermione elbowed him in response to his sarcastic comment, and Draco pinched her waist back, laughing. “I just stayed in Saturday,” she replied, much happier with the memory of her evening as she looked back on it through new eyes. “Katie invited me out with her and Leanne, but I had a busy day and just wanted some quiet.”

Draco nodded and they turned their conversation to Otto Lilienbecker’s recent potions work as they approached the door of the bookstore, releasing the _Muffliato_ spell around them. Giddy with delight that he hadn’t brought another woman home Saturday, Hermione started to tuck herself into his side; but, remembering they were in Diagon Alley and not Muggle London, she pulled away again quickly. Draco clasped her hand in silent understanding, then shoved his hands in his pockets to avoid temptation.

As they made their way toward the author’s table, they shifted their conversation to the kids’ upcoming Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match -- the final match of the year. “Slytherin will win, no doubt!” Draco smirked. “Scorp’s caught the snitch in every game so far this year. There’s no _way_ Gryffindor’s new seeker will beat him.”

Hermione side-eyed him. “That’s not what Rose says. Their seeker’s caught the snitch in every Gryffindor game too, and even though he’s new this year, she said he usually catches it faster than their old seeker did.”

“Not happening.” Draco shook his head. “Scorp’s not getting beaten by a 14-year-old who’s only played three games!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Scorpius is only one year older than the other seeker; that won’t make a difference! Besides, Rose just turned 15 today, and Scorpius doesn’t act like she’s some little kid he can walk all over.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to roll his eyes. “Witch, clearly you know nothing about teenage athletic development! In the Muggle world, your seeker would still be on a junior varsity team, while Scorpius and Rose would be on the varsity team. That year _does_ make a difference! 

“Also, Scorpius has played with his team for two years now, and your seeker’s only been on the team for one. There’s no way Gryffindor’s had time to develop the ruthless precision and cunning of Slytherin’s team.” He wagged his finger at her in good humor. “Also, I didn’t know it was Rose’s birthday today! Have you floo-called her?”

“No, I’ll call her when I get home tonight. I just got back from work right before you came over. But to your points, I think they’d _all_ be on the junior varsity team because their fourth year at Hogwarts is like first year of Muggle high school.” She waved her finger back at him. “And, how do you not know what a band-aid is, but you know how Muggle high school sports work?”

Draco pretended to be cross, folding his arms over his chest as he looked down his nose at her.

Hermione burst into quiet laughter, and he broke into a disarming smile, his eyes crinkling and teeth sparkling. “Theo’s Muggle wife explained it to us. They have so many more sports at Muggle schools, while all we have is Quidditch!”

Hermione thought, not for the first time, that if Hogwarts had a decent Muggle Studies curriculum, it would go a long way toward improving magical and Muggle relations.

When they finally reached Lilienbecker for the book signing, Draco talked to him as long as possible before the store employee told him to move along. Stepping past the author’s table, Hermione turned to him. “Do you mind if we spend a bit of time browsing before we leave?”

He laughed, flashing his grin at her again. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less, love.” She gave him a besotted smile, his endearment turning her insides to mush. They found a secluded corner, and he stole a kiss from her. It progressed until she forgot they were in a bookstore in public. A throat cleared behind Draco. They startled and pulled apart, aiming their faces at the shelves and hoping whomever was there wouldn’t recognize them. 

Hermione peered at the person out of the corner of her eye, feeling relief that it was an older wizard she didn’t know, and who was no longer paying them any attention. They shuffled over to the next aisle, grinning, and Draco squeezed her bum before moving away from her down the aisle to the potions books. 

She knew she should be more careful in public with Draco, but frankly, she had grown tired of worrying about what other people thought of the Brightest Witch of her Age. The only reason she and Ron were keeping the divorce quiet was so the kids wouldn’t have to deal with their nosy peers at school. Rose and Hugo had confided in their closest friends, and Hermione was surprised the news hadn’t leaked out by now; Hogwarts was a gossip mill. They obviously had trustworthy friends. 

Hermione settled into browsing, trying to avoid fixating on her feelings about Draco. Half an hour later, she had several new purchases rung up at the register. She and Draco left the bookstore together and grabbed a small bite to eat back in Muggle Richmond before splitting for the night. She needed to call Rose for her birthday, and she also wanted time to unpack her confused thoughts about Malfoy, undistracted by his enchanting lips, fingers, and sinewy muscles. 

* * *

Draco stepped out of the floo behind his mother, into the living room of the Tonks’ household. Andromeda came up to greet them, her silver hair in an elegant knot at her neck and her golden-hued silk robes hanging gracefully on her lithe frame. “Welcome, Draco, Cissa, it’s lovely to see you both. Thanks for joining us tonight.”

“It’s a delight, sister.” Narcissa nodded, her hair falling over the shoulders of her steel blue cape.

“Teddy and Harry should be here any moment; they’re coming directly from the Ministry.”

They talked in the living room until the floo sounded. Teddy came through first, wearing his purple security detail robes, and Harry strode out immediately after, clad in his silver-gray Auror robes. Cheek kisses were exchanged with the women and handshakes among the men, and Andromeda led them to the dining room, calling for her house elf Pippy. 

When Narcissa had decided years ago that Malfoy Manor didn’t need a dozen house elves, Andromeda had taken on two of them to ensure they had a good home and to help her while she raised Teddy as a single grandparent. Pippy briefly appeared, then vanished again while goblets of moscatel and bowls of chilled strawberry-rhubarb soup floated in. The family caught up with each other over the first course, talking about Narcissa’s fundraiser for St. Mungo’s, Harry and Draco’s children, and Teddy’s recent international trips as head of the Minister’s security detail. 

After the house elves had vanished the soup -- replacing it with rosemary-mint rubbed lamb and roasted potatoes, and a pinot noir from Burgundy -- Harry got down to business, turning to Narcissa first. “Thank you for passing on the information Mrs. Greengrass told you in confidence. I promise nothing Draco shared will be linked back to you or Mrs. Greengrass. The rumors you’ve heard, unfortunately, appear to be true.” He turned and addressed the rest of the table. “It looks like they’re part of an organized effort to re-establish Pure-blood power.”

An air of gravitas settled on the group as Harry continued speaking. “After Draco and I met last week, I followed up on Flint and Bulstrode. Malfoy, I think your conclusion was right -- it’s likely they took the Ministry posts so they could be in a position to disempower Half-bloods and Muggle-borns, and it does look like they’ve been working with each other secretly.”

Draco felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach. He’d been holding on to some slim hope that maybe the Death Eater plans weren’t organized, that the pandemic was just bringing old prejudices out, and they could be stamped back down easily.

Harry continued, “Flint’s department keeps wizarding records, like births and marriages. During the second war, they controlled the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, but the Ministry destroyed those documents and hasn’t kept records on blood status since.

“Flint’s made a lot of small changes in record-keeping, and when you look at them all together, they allow blood status to be more easily identified. Bulstrode is doing the same thing in the Health Division: all of her new health and safety protocols require more information than we kept before, on everyone involved in any health case or Auror investigation -- Ministry staff, witnesses, victims... Flint’s department is also keeping records on Hogwarts students now, which they haven’t done since the war.”

The thought of some bigoted Ministry official keeping records on Scorpius and his friends galled Draco. His mind immediately went to the terrible acts he’d been forced to perform on Half-bloods during his seventh year, and the idea of Scorpius being asked to do such a thing sickened him. 

He hoped the current political climate would never let things go that far, yet after hearing all the prejudiced views at The Alchemy Room last weekend, he couldn’t help but wonder _what if_...? Andromeda, too, looked distressed, no doubt thinking about how her daughter had died to prevent this type of Pure-blood power play from happening again.

Harry shifted in his chair. “Their changes make the Ministry’s records informative enough to enforce the legislation you heard about: they could cite CoVID-related health concerns as an excuse to segregate Muggle spouses and deny schooling to Muggle-born Hogwarts students, and they now have the records to identify those people.”

Andromeda spoke up. “But everyone knows that wizards can’t get CoVID, regardless of blood status!”

Narcissa regarded her sister with sympathy. “People deny science all the time, dear. Look at what Muggle governments around the world did last year when the pandemic started. The Rowles’ and Selwyns’ terrible letter to the Prophet is already playing on people’s fears, spreading false information and creating legitimate-sounding questions about how safe wizards really are around Muggles -- and by extension, Muggle-borns and Half-bloods. 

“I’ve had tea with some Sacred 28 acquaintances recently, and they parroted the Rowles’ and Selwyns’ views to me. They’ve all been talking with each other, and even those whom I know aren’t Death Eater sympathizers are now questioning their safety around anyone with Muggle connections.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “And our new appointee to the International Confederation of Wizards supports Flint’s legislation. He’s been using his seat on the Confederation to talk to other Ministries around the globe, promoting similar measures -- according to his wife.” 

Draco assumed this was Aldrich Fawley, the Pure-blood wizard Hermione had brought up. Draco knew that the more people started to worry for their safety, the easier it would be for them to accept segregation policies and Pure-blood power grabs. 

He grimaced and swallowed a bite, the food feeling dry in his mouth. “I spoke with Greg Goyle Saturday night when I met Pansy and Daphne at The Alchemy Room for dinner. He implied a group of Death Eater sympathizers meet monthly at his restaurant. He didn’t trust me enough to say more, but I inferred they’re working on exactly the type of plans we’re discussing.”

Harry stabbed his fork into his lamb, and Draco turned to him. “So you think Flint and Bulstrode have increased monitoring and record-keeping to gather enough information to enforce segregation?”

Harry nodded, his face grim. “Yes. I think they’re trying to set the records up to establish a modern version of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission.” 

Narcissa patted her napkin to her lips. “According to my acquaintances, it seems Flint and Bulstrode plan to introduce their legislation this summer, in time to keep Muggle-born students from attending Hogwarts.” 

Draco sat up straight. “We need to find out what’s happening at these monthly meetings at Goyle’s restaurant.”

Harry responded, “We have enough information to open an investigation and assign a team to it for domestic threats. I’ll need to keep it covert, though. I don’t want this getting back to Flint.” He looked around the table. “Can you think of anyone who might be attending Goyle’s meetings that we could convince to become an informant? Someone who could legitimately be invited but work for us?”

Draco thought of Hermione’s suggestion that _he_ go undercover. He wondered if he should volunteer, but he held his tongue. He wasn’t an Auror, and he had no desire to get entangled in a modern Death Eater group.

Narcissa set down her fork. “Flint has approached Gareth Greengrass. He may be willing to help you. Shall I attempt to arrange a meeting?”

Harry nodded in thanks, while Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn’t want his father-in-law endangering himself, either. Astoria’s mother had already lost a daughter. She didn’t need to worry for the safety of her husband now, too. He almost spoke up, but decided this was a conversation he should have with his mother and Gareth later. 

-o~0~o-

The dinner plates magically vanished and the salad course floated in. Draco dug into his watercress, so preoccupied with his thoughts, he barely registered its bitter tang on his tongue. He forced his attention back to Harry as the Auror began speaking again.

“I’ll coordinate the investigation with the Department of International Magical Cooperation.” Harry glanced at Teddy. “As the head of the Minister’s security detail, Teddy is briefed on international intelligence that the rest of the Auror department doesn’t hear about. It sounds like related events are happening in other countries.”

Teddy nodded. “I’m going to Romania with the Minister on Monday. He’s meeting with their Ministry to discuss a Death Eater-like uprising in their Wizengamot -- all the same types of things we’ve been talking about tonight, except it’s moving at a quicker pace there.” 

Draco broke in. “Last weekend, a bloke at The Alchemy Room told us about an eastern European Death Eater radio program. Have you heard anything about it from the Romanian Ministry?” 

Teddy speared a pear and radish with his fork. “I haven’t, but we’ll get a full intelligence briefing Monday morning before we portkey to Romania.” The turquoise-haired young man turned to Harry. “I know you don’t usually join us for pre-travel briefings, but could you be there Monday to talk through all this with us?”

Harry agreed. They discussed the trip to Romania a bit more, and as they finished their salad course, Harry turned to Draco. “The Department of International Magical Cooperation is interviewing for a new deputy head. Hermione said three of the final candidates could be Death Eater sympathizers.”

Draco nodded. “Hermione told me she talked with you about the candidates.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the group meeting at Goyle’s restaurant is tracking open positions at the Ministry and trying to fill them.” Harry looked at Narcissa. “Let’s try to meet with Gareth next week and see if he’s open to joining Goyle’s group.” 

Draco was still uncomfortable with Gareth getting involved in this, and he eyed his mother and Harry. “I’d like to join you when you meet with him.”

Narcissa’s gray eyes flashed at her son. He would need to talk with her alone about his concerns. She nodded at him, reading the doubt in his face and understanding they would talk privately later.

As the salad plates and rosé glasses disappeared, tiny ramekins of flan topped with a rhubarb reduction and small glasses filled with ruby port floated into the room, settling at each place setting. 

Draco took a sip of the port, relishing its sweetness. Harry pulled several pieces of parchment out of his pocket and slid them across the table to Draco. “Malfoy, I know you thought I was joking last week, but I’d like you to seriously consider joining us as an independent consultant. No one else in the Auror department has the connections you and your mother have, and we’ll need to hire a consultant with more extensive potions knowledge than we have on staff. I’d prefer that person be you.”

As Draco picked up the pieces of parchment, Harry said, “Those are the lists of potions stolen from St. Mungo’s and the group homes.”

Draco quickly skimmed the lists, thinking out loud. “Half of these could be for recreational use. Another quarter could be sold on the black market.” He shook his head, stymied. “About a quarter, though, don’t jump out as being worth stealing. And I don’t see a connection among them.” He looked up at Potter. “I’ll need to spend some time analyzing their ingredients and uses.” 

Draco glanced at his mother as he considered Potter’s request to join the DMLE as a consultant. “I thought your suggestion was ridiculous last week, and truly, I don’t have time for this, but I suspect I’ll end up spending time on it regardless. I’ll discuss it with Mother over the weekend, Potter, and perhaps we can discuss it next week when we meet with Gareth.”

They finished their dessert course in subdued conversation, each person around the table thinking of their personal demons from the wars. Harry and Teddy -- the loss of their parents. Andromeda -- the loss of her husband and daughter. Draco and Narcissa -- the terrors of having Voldemort live in their home, and a shell of a husband and father now living in the Manor.

As Draco quietly finished his port, he realized he wanted to talk through tonight’s developments with Hermione. He’d initially been attracted to her as some abstract embodiment of goodness and light -- well, that, and the way her desire for him was written all over her face. But as he’d gotten to know her better over the past month, he appreciated her intellect, wit, and honesty. 

And he’d begun to remove her from the pedestal he’d previously put her on, as he discovered that she was a real person, with flaws, and hang-ups, and personal baggage. Finding out that she wasn’t perfect made him want her even more; he felt like more of an equal to her, rather than constantly feeling morally bereft in comparison. 

He knew her strategic mind would develop conclusions about tonight’s discussion quickly, and he also wanted to brainstorm contingency plans for PotionLab’s vaccine research with her. He hadn’t brought it up tonight, but he was concerned the Ministry might try to pass regulations preventing him from mixing magical and Muggle employees. They wouldn’t extend to his French operations unless France passed similar measures, but he had a vaccine team working in his British lab, too. 

He’d stop by her house in the morning and see if she’d join him tomorrow evening to talk through all of this Pure-blood mess. Maybe, if he was lucky, she’d finally stay overnight and he could wake up with her in his arms rather than in an empty bed.

Bringing his attention back to the gathering around the table, he listened to Harry rib Teddy about the DMLE interns who were infatuated with him. Andromeda looked on with a doting expression, and the mood at the table lightened considerably. By the time they exchanged goodbyes, they were in good spirits again, despite the ominous reason for their gathering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE thank you to my alpha canttouchthis and my beta Astrangefan for all of the help they provided on this chapter. They are fantastic!
> 
> And thank you readers for continuing to read - please consider leaving a note if you liked it or have feedback, I love hearing from you! Additional cover art for this chapter is on tumblr at ElizColl1035.
> 
> I'm on track for the next update in two weeks. Happy Hannukah for everyone celebrating Hannukah!


	8. Uncertainties (Midnight Sky)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a week early, yay! I know y’all are ready for Hermione to get over her reluctance and go all in with Draco. Have a little more patience with her in this chapter as she figures herself out. Chapter 9 will be a pivotal point for her, in a good way. Immense thanks, as always, to my alphabet canttouchthis and Astrangefan. Smooches!
> 
> Also, I'm posting a fun and fluffy Dramione one-shot in the next few days based off the Christmas song Baby It's Cold Outside. I'm super excited about it: they're Aurors, and they find themselves in an *interesting* situation on Christmas Eve; there's lots of fun and snarky banter between them. Subscribe to my author page if you want a notification when it's posted!

Hermione’s ears hurt, the early morning air more chilly than she’d expected. She was halfway through her run through Richmond Park, short breaths coming out in misty puffs in the cold moist air. She wordlessly cast a warming charm on her ears, and held in a cry of pain as the warmth hit the ache that had lodged in her skull. 

She passed other joggers, a few dog-walkers, and some parents with strollers keeping their early-rising babies occupied at 7am. The morning mist had mostly burned away by now, but still lingered in some hollows in the park. Steam curled into the air from the small ponds she passed, weak sunlight breaking through the clouds. 

The park was one of her favorite places; its natural setting filled her soul. She could never think too much when she ran; her body worked so hard to keep her moving, she had no energy for thoughts. It was her favorite thing about running, to simply be present in the moment in this beautiful space, her overactive mind shut off for a little while. 

A jogger approached from the other direction, and she realized it was Draco at the same time he recognized her. He broke out in a wide grin, and she felt even shorter of breath at the unexpected encounter. She took in his black running hat, black joggers, and close-fitting rose colored hoodie; Draco Malfoy in a Muggle hoodie was such an improbable sight, she fought back a giggle. He slowed as he got closer, his broad smile never leaving his face, and her heart fluttered.

He came to a stop and chatted for a few moments before he asked, “Can I turn around and join you for the rest of your run? How much farther are you going?”

She’d been looking forward to a meditative solo run, in part to get away from her continually circling thoughts about the man now standing before her. _Go with the flow, Hermione. It’s only another 15 minutes back home._ “Sure. I have maybe a mile and a half left.”

His eager expression reminded her a bit of a puppy, which made her stifle another giggle as she imagined his response if he knew what she was thinking. God, something about him made her so silly; it was a nice change from her usual deliberate approach to life. 

She hesitated, though, as she noticed she was breathing heavily while he stood there acting like he’d been sauntering down the street and not in a full-on run. “I’m not a fast runner; I don’t know if you want to slow down your pace.”

“Whatever your speed is, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He turned around and started jogging back the way he came.

She fell in place by his side, and he glanced at her as they continued up the path. “I’d planned to stop by your house this morning anyway. We had an… informative... conversation with Harry last night at dinner, and I wanted to talk to you about it, get your thoughts. Would you be interested in coming over tonight? If you don’t have plans?”

“I think so… For dinner? Or after?”

“I was thinking we could walk up to George Street, get some takeout, and bring it back - so we don’t have to talk about something so serious in the middle of a restaurant.”

Hermione’s breath came in short huffs while they made their way up a small rise. “Katie was trying to wheedle me ( _huff_ ) into dinner tonight, since I didn’t go out with her last weekend. ( _Huff_ ) I haven’t committed though. ( _Huff_ ) I’m more interested in hearing what’s happening at the Ministry. ( _Huff_ ) Sorry Draco, I’m not as fit as you. I’m not great at conversation ( _huff_ ) while running!” 

He laughed. “No worries. Do you want to check with Katie and get back to me?”

She nodded, red-faced as she worked to keep up with him. Despite him slowing down, they were still running faster than normal for her. “That sounds good.”

“How’s your arm been doing lately?” he asked.

She shrugged as they topped the hill and began a shallow descent, allowing her a full sentence at a time before she had to suck in another breath. “Meh. It’s been functional; I haven’t had another episode. It never feels great, but it’s tolerable.” She flexed her left fingers, feeling the tingling that was ever-present these days. “And you? Has your neuropathy acted up lately?”

He shook his head. “Not really, a little bit of the nerve tingling here and there, but I can’t complain. No achy episodes or trouble walking lately. So, pretty good.”

They covered the rest of their run through the park mostly in comfortable silence, him chatting here and there and her nodding in response, her lungs burning. As they exited the park gate onto Cambrian Road, the echoes of their feet on the pavement slowed, for which she was grateful, as a cramp was starting to form under her ribs. 

Hermione’s breathing had returned to normal by the time they approached their houses. “Thanks for the company,” Draco said.

“I hope I didn’t slow you down too much!” 

“No, it was great, I enjoyed it. I’d…” he trailed off and shook his head with a wry smile. “Never mind.” 

“What?”

He fidgeted his hands a bit as they covered the last few steps to her gate. “I was going to say I’d love to run together again sometime. But I know you don’t want pressure, and I want to respect that.”

She felt awkward but thanked him for the consideration, not quite meeting his eyes. _Take each day as it comes, Hermione. Be in the now, don’t think about next week or next month._ She took a breath and met his gaze, smiling at him shyly. 

“I’d like to run together again, that sounds nice.” 

His eyes crinkled at the corners as his face lit up in delight, and her heart rose to her throat when she saw how happy he felt over something so simple. He stepped toward her but she warded him off, hands in front of her. “Draco, I’m covered in sweat, despite the chilly weather.”

“I am too. I don’t care.” He batted her hands away and stepped into her personal space, leaning down to kiss her. She relented, kissing him back, and decided at that moment that she’d rather spend the evening at home with him than go to a loud restaurant with Katie and be interrogated about the progress of her “relationship” with Malfoy. 

She pulled back from their kiss and he captured her in a hug, wrapping his arms around her tightly. It felt nice to be securely held, and she melted into him. They both drew comfort from each other through their embrace, and when they pulled apart, Hermione promised to confirm their plans for tonight after checking in with Katie.

-o~0~o-

Hermione entered her kitchen and gulped down a glass of water, then stuck her head in the floo to call Katie about dinner. Her persistent friend insisted they have brunch together if dinner wouldn’t work, and two hours later Hermione found herself sitting across from Katie over a plate of crumpets and smoked salmon with wilted arugula. 

Hermione had filled Katie in on what little she knew about the Pure-blood agenda at the Ministry, and Katie was now grilling her about Draco. So much for avoiding an interrogation from Katie today...

“So… have you two spent the night together yet?” 

“No.” Hermione fidgeted with her napkin. “He’s asked me a couple of times to stay, but I’ve said no. I’m not ready. Or, I haven’t been ready yet… But, we ran into each other running this morning ” - Katie laughed at the unintentional word play - “and I’ve been trying to decide whether I want to stay the night tonight, or not.”

“What’s holding you back?”

Hermione sighed. “I guess I feel like, if I stay the night he’s going to expect a commitment, that it’ll mean we’re in an actual relationship. As much as I like him, I’m not ready for a new relationship. I want some time to myself.” She took a small bite of her breakfast. “I wish we’d run into each other 6 or 12 months from now,” she said wistfully.

“How come?” 

“It would give me time to be independent for awhile, not beholden to anyone, before going back into a partnership and having to consider someone else’s needs.”

“Meaning, if you reconnected with Malfoy in a year, you could see yourself in a committed relationship with him?”

Hermione nodded immediately, her face paling at the significance of her admission.

Katie’s brows rose, surprised and a bit shocked, but she recovered quickly. “So I take it he’s looking for something more serious, since you think spending the night with him is going to raise his expectations?”

Hermione nodded again. 

Katie fell quiet, thoughtful, and the hubbub of the bustling brunch crowd grew louder in the women’s silence. “Has he dated much since Astoria died?”

“I don’t think so. I get the feeling he’s been mostly on his own since Astoria, and I know for sure he hasn’t dated anyone seriously. He told me one time when we were snuggling on the sofa that he hadn’t been with another woman like that - just sitting around cosily together at home - since Astoria died.”

Katie's face fell in sympathy at Malfoy’s unfortunate circumstances. 

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “He’d like to spend more time together, but he’s holding back to keep from pressuring me. He actually said that out loud this morning. Katie, you should have seen the smile on his face after he admitted that and then I agreed to go on another run with him sometime.” 

She let out a heavy breath. “I keep thinking, over and over, I wish I could ask him to wait on me… give me six months to catch up.”

Katie tapped her nails on the table. “Do you think he _would_ wait on you to catch up with him?” Hermione started to shake her head, but Katie kept going. “If he really likes you, and he hasn’t been dating much - and you’re clearly keeping each other occupied physically,” she raised her eyebrows, “he doesn’t really have a reason not to wait on you.”

The pitch of Hermione’s voice rose an octave. “I can’t ask him to do that! That would be like asking him to put his life on hold!” She lowered her voice. “Plus, it feels awful to be the person who always wants more in a relationship. I’m not doing that to him.”

Katie set her fork down and leaned forward. “Do you think maybe he deserves a say in that?”

Hermione shook her head and waved her off, stuffing a bite of buttered crumpet in her mouth.

Katie refrained from tutting at her, and tried a new tack instead. “So what would happen if you decided _‘Screw it, I’m gonna try this whole “relationship” thing out with Malfoy’_? What would you be worried about?”

Hermione was silent for a while, slowly finishing her crumpet and sipping down the rich black coffee in her mug. “The crux of it is, I don’t think I can give a partner - any partner, let alone a man still grieving his wife - the amount of emotional support and attention they deserve right now. I’m just… emotionally tired. I don’t have the energy to put someone else’s needs ahead of my own yet - besides the kids, of course.” 

Katie nodded. “That makes sense.” Then she looked at Hermione with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You know, the first year of dating someone is the infatuation phase. All you want to do is shag each other silly and have fun together. It’s not like being married. You’re not living together; you’re not parenting together… it’s all new and exciting!”

Hermione bit out a sharp laugh. “I don’t think the first year with Draco would be all butterflies and rainbows, Katie. I’m still dealing with my divorce, and his wife _died_. Our kids go to school together. We’ve known each other for 30 years. We have a complicated history. He already apologized to me once, and I wigged out on him!”

Katie’s eyebrows rose, but she refrained from asking about it.

Hermione continued, “For instance, the thought of talking to him tonight about Astoria, if he were to bring her up? It just sounds… exhausting. Like, I literally want to go home and burrow under the covers just thinking about it.” 

Katie reached over and grabbed Hermione’s hand. “I can’t tell you what to do, but it sounds like you _really_ like him, and from what you’ve told me, it sounds like he really likes you, too. _I_ think you owe it to yourself to see where things go and not shut this down just because you’re tired.”

Hermione frowned at her and took a bite of her greens. “I’ll think about it. Well, really, that’s all I’ve done lately is think about it. Anyway, thank you for listening. So… enough about me and my issues. What’s been going on with you lately?”

“Well…” Katie smirked, “all the young witches in my department have been chattering non-stop about the _gorgeous new hunk_ leading security detail for the Minister. Imagine my surprise to find out that their dreamboat was none other than baby Teddy Lupin!” Hermione burst into laughter, and they finished brunch talking about gossip in Katie’s department at the Ministry.

* * *

“So how was your birthday floo call with Rose?” Draco’s fingers intertwined with Hermione’s as they walked back to his house with tapas and paella for takeout. 

“Short,” Hermione laughed. “While she’s gotten past the stage where everything I say is stupid, she still prefers her friends to me and Ron.”

“As it should be.” Draco smiled.

“She spent most of the call telling me about their game strategy for beating Slytherin next weekend.” 

“Oh really? And what strategy is that?”

Hermione shook her head, feigning exasperation with him. “As if I would tell the enemy! You’ll just have to wait and see, like your son, at the game.” She turned to him. “Are you planning to go?”

“I wouldn’t miss it, Granger. I’ve been to every one of Scorpius’s games. Are you going?”

“Yes, Ron and I will both be there. And we need to sit together, pretending we’re still one big happy family…” she trailed off with a frown. “Hugo thankfully hasn’t reached the age where he refuses to be seen with us, so he’ll be with us for at least part of the game. I suppose you’ll be in the Slytherin seats?”

“Yes, I will. It may also be an opportunity to find out more about this group at Goyle’s restaurant.” Hermione glanced at him, questioning. “I’ll explain when we get home; I’d like your opinion on how you think it would be best to get into his meetings.”

When they had settled at his dining table, dinner laid out in front of them, Draco recounted last night’s discussion at Andromeda’s house. He talked through everything Harry had discovered and their decision to approach Gareth Greengrass about infiltrating Goyle’s group. 

“Mother contacted my father-in-law today and arranged a meeting with Potter for next week.” Draco looked at Hermione with haunted eyes. “I hadn’t thought about it ‘til you mentioned it a few days ago, but now I keep wondering if I should volunteer to go instead. I don’t want Gareth in danger. Helena already lost Astoria; she doesn’t need to worry about her husband, too.”

Hermione’s face softened in sympathy. “You said Flint has already approached Mr. Greengrass, asking him to support his legislation, right?”

Draco nodded.

“I don’t think it makes sense for you to volunteer, now that I know more. Flint has already contacted your father-in-law, so they obviously think he might support their anti-Muggle efforts. And, as you said, it’s well-known that you work with Muggles. 

“Plus…” she hesitated. “I think you’d stand out in that group more than Mr. Greengrass.” She looked at him in apology. “Your family has always stood out; people either admire or dislike the Malfoys. You can’t blend into the background the way your father-in-law probably can.” 

Draco considered her words. “You’re right. I just hate for him to be in such a dangerous position. If some of them are former Death Eaters… they’re a brutal group.” He closed his eyes, pushing away memories of the terror from his youth. 

“I understand. Harry will make it as safe as he can. But it’s not without risk.”

He gazed at her, resigned. “I also want your thoughts on PotionLab’s vaccine work, and back-up plans if these anti-Muggle efforts affect my business.” He motioned to their empty plates. “Can you stay after dinner is cleaned up, and have a drink with me to talk through it?”

Hermione smiled at him across the table. “Absolutely, I’d love to.”

They sent the plates into the kitchen, and Mickey cleared the leftovers, storing them away for a later meal. Draco poured a couple of glasses of wine and pulled her in for a long and toe-curling kiss by the wet bar. She stepped away, pulse racing from the touch of his lips, and took her wine glass from him. They settled together on the sofa, Hermione sitting sideways, her back flush against its leather arm and her legs settled over Draco’s lap. His hands trailed a soothing path over the smooth fabric of her red trousers as he spoke.

Draco began to explain PotionLab’s efforts toward producing a better version of the CoVID vaccine. “So, the SARS-CoV-2 coronavirus has been mutating, meaning Muggles vaccinated against the original version are susceptible to the mutated versions. We want to couple the Muggle research on human genetics with PotionLab’s research on the coronavirus genome to create a vaccine that will work against any version of the coronavirus, no matter how it mutates. 

“We’re also trying to create a vaccine delivery method that doesn’t need refrigeration, and will be effective with only a single dose rather than multiple doses over a period of weeks. We also want it to have lifelong effectiveness rather than needing to be readministered every 6 to 12 months.”

Hermione’s eyes sparkled with wonder. “That’s amazing Draco! It would make a huge difference in parts of the world that are hard to reach and don’t have refrigeration available.”

A smile played at the corners of his lips as he thought of the good this type of vaccine could do. Then he explained the dilemma facing PotionLab’s vaccine efforts. “The problem is, it sounds like Flint and Bulstrode plan to introduce their anti-Muggle legislation early this summer. If it succeeds, I’m concerned the Ministry may pass business regulations that will make it impossible for PotionLab to continue operating as a mixed magical Muggle business.”

Hermione asked, “I take it that if PotionLab can’t employ Muggle staff, it would slow down the vaccine development?”

“It would,” Draco nodded. “At least, for a while. It would take some time to reorganize the business to accommodate segregated operations.” He tapped a finger on his wine glass. “If this is a serious possibility, I’d want to bring more wizards into the day-to-day vaccine development efforts so they can absorb the Muggle technical knowledge and continue working on the vaccine without Muggle help.” 

“How close are you to pulling it all together and releasing a new vaccine?”

“We originally thought we’d have the prototype finished by June, but that’s less than two weeks away, and it’s not possible.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “I’m optimistic we could start trials in July though, and be ready for approval and mass distribution in September. Provided we can continue working the way we have been. 

“This is why we need to get invited to these monthly meetings at Goyle’s restaurant!” His jaw tightened, determined. “We have to understand what they’re planning, and who at the Ministry supports them. I don’t want to reorganize my business, and potentially delay the vaccine development if I don’t need to; but I don’t want to be caught blind either, because that would cause an even worse delay.” 

His hands continued their gentle trail across Hermione’s legs. “If we can get this more effective vaccine developed quickly and in the hands of Muggle governments around the world, the Death Eaters wouldn’t have a leg to stand on anymore, regarding their claims that ‘diseased’ Muggles are a threat to wizards.”

Hermione sat in silent thought, fingering her grandmother’s diamond pendant against her chest, then asked, “Do you think that, with this Pure-blood power movement, they would just find another cause to support their claims if your vaccine becomes widely available? Take advantage of the fact that they’ve rallied Pure-bloods and find other ways to assert their power and privilege instead?”

Draco frowned. “Perhaps. But the Death Eaters were defeated 20 years ago. Wizarding society has been peaceful, and our government has been effective ever since. The Sacred 28 families are a small percentage of our society at this point and, other than the Wizengamot, they’re not overly represented at the Ministry. It’s completely to their advantage to capitalize on the fears of Pure-bloods and use Covid as an excuse to segregate Muggles.”

“Well, I’d like to help you strategize, but it sounds like you really can’t come up with an alternate approach until you find out what the Death Eater group is planning.”

Draco’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly as he acknowledged the truth of her statement.

She asked, “When are you and Harry planning to meet with your father-in-law? And how quickly do you think he could get into Goyle’s meetings? They only meet once a month, right?”

Draco nodded. “We’re meeting with him Tuesday. Hopefully Goyle’s next meeting is in the coming week or two so we don’t have to wait another month to learn more.” He growled in frustration. “I feel uninformed and helpless right now.” His eyes hardened as he stared at the fireplace. “I’m not accustomed to feeling that way. From a moral standpoint, I’m glad I’m not part of this, but from a practical standpoint, I wish I still had these connections so I knew what was going on.”

Hermione tutted at him in sympathy and pulled her legs out of his lap to scoot closer to him. She took his hands, rubbing her thumbs over his skin. “I know it’s hard to wait when you need to make decisions but don’t have the information you need to make them.” He let out a deep breath as she continued speaking. “It sounds like you, Harry, and your mother are doing everything you can, as quickly as you can, to get the information you need.” 

She looked in his eyes, reassuring him. “You’ll figure this out, you and Harry and all the others, and we’ll _stop_ this. I mean, we defeated Voldemort 20 years ago. Surely we can defeat a nascent pseudo-Death Eater plot that hasn’t even gotten off the ground yet!”

Draco sighed, the tightness around his eyes easing somewhat at her words. “You’re right. You’re right. I know you’re right.” He slumped back into the couch, working the tension out of his body. “Even if we can’t decide how to move forward right now, thanks for listening and talking through it with me.”

She smiled gently at him. “You’re welcome.” If this were a conversation with Ron several years ago, it would have ended with _‘I love you’_ \- both a sentimental truth and an affirmation that everything would be okay because they were tackling things together. Now, her _‘you’re welcome’_ seemed to linger in the air, an incomplete statement. The ensuing silence was heavy with unspoken thoughts and words, longings for both the past and the future that neither of them was able to voice. 

They sat quietly, each caught in their own thoughts while uncomfortably aware of each other’s silent contemplations. After several minutes, Draco heaved out a deep breath, as if purging their worrisome conversation from his system, and turned to her with a soft smile. “I know it’s late, and I know you don’t like flying, but would you be willing to fly with me on my broom out on the Quidditch pitch? I could use the stress relief.”

When Hermione didn’t immediately answer, he asked, “Please? I promise it’ll be fun. I won’t fly too fast or too high; it’ll be completely safe.” He looked at her with puppy dog eyes, and she couldn’t say no.

“Fine, fine,” she laughed. He broke into a wide smile and pulled her up and back to his shed.

-o~0~o-

Hermione focused on not screaming as she sat behind Draco, her arms around his waist holding on for dear life. He’d started out slow, getting her comfortable with flying around in the dark under an enchanted starlit sky. But now they were speeding 60 feet above the ground, which she really couldn’t see under the night stars.

She’d done this before, flying in the dark - in their fifth year when they flew to the Department of Mysteries to save Sirius, and before their sixth year, disguised as one of the seven Harrys, bringing him to the safe house at Andromeda’s. And seventh year, escaping on the dragon from Gringotts. 

But all of those had been necessary; lives had been on the line. Flying around in the dark for the hell of it, as some kind of romantic stress relief? She fought back a wave of nausea as he turned sharply at the end of the pitch. 

It could have been quite enchanting - if they were on the ground, and she didn’t have her cheek pressed into his back while she fought against her nerves. Had she been able to focus on him, she’d have noticed that he smelled of woods and citrus, and that his broad back felt delightfully strong as she clung to him. But all she could think about was not having a panic attack.

“How are you doing back there?” he asked, their speed whipping his voice past her. 

“I’m okay,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “How’s the stress relief coming along? Is this doing the trick?” She hoped he’d say yes and land, so she could get off this blasted broom.

“Yes! But you sound less than ecstatic. Are you really okay?”

“Yes!” she squeaked out as he flew higher. Dear god, please let him land soon. 

“You’re not enjoying this, are you? I’m sorry, we’ll land.”

“No, no,” she protested feebly; she knew this was doing him good. Her words to Katie from this morning came back to her. Perhaps she had more emotional capacity available than she thought she did, or maybe she cared about Draco more than she realized. Either way, she felt it was worth the discomfort to see him so happy. 

He squeezed her hand and immediately circled them lower, landing them near the door. She hopped off the broom and felt a little woozy as she tried to get her land legs back.

Draco shouldered his broom and pulled her to him, squeezing her tightly. “Thank you!” he said into her hair. “I’ll go on my own next time; I feel great now, but you look traumatized.”

“Traumatized is maybe too strong a word,” she mumbled into his chest. He had needed this, and she wanted to go along as best she could, but she agreed it would probably be best if he went alone next time. He released her, and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips, and they made their way back to the house.

-o~0~o-

After pouring them both some water, he caged her between his arms against his kitchen island. She immediately flashed back to their first night together - the start of this romance - and she stifled a moan at the thought of what else they could do tonight.

He nipped at her lips, then moved down to her jawline and across her neck, pushing her hair gently behind her shoulder. She tilted her head to give him better access and ran her hands across his broad chest, feeling each firm plane of muscle under the fabric of his shirt.

His hands crept under the hem of her blouse, fingers brushing gently along the skin of her waist, and she sucked in a breath at his touch. His lips kissed a path back to her mouth, and his fingers moved higher, palming her breasts under her shirt. 

Hermione wanted more, and she moved her hand to the thick denim of his jeans, rubbing him through the fabric. He pressed forward into her hand and increased his pressure against her breasts, fishing for purchase against her skin rather than through the fabric of her bra.

Her nerve endings lit up, firing overtime at his response, and the sound of his zipper echoed as her fingers nimbly opened his trousers. He pulled away, eyes glazed with desire. “Can we take this upstairs?”

She nodded and followed him up. He ran his hands across her chest again, over her shirt, when they reached his room.

“Hermione, I want to see you.” 

Before she could respond, their clothes vanished into a messy pile on the floor. He looked her over, his face raw with passion, and she shivered under his gaze and the sudden shock of cool air hitting her exposed body. He pulled her onto the bed with him, kissing every part of her neck and chest he could reach. 

She ran her hands through his hair, the fine strands like silk against her fingers, and he scooted down under her body, his supple hands a perfect fit for her breasts. Her nipples hardened under the onslaught of his tongue, and swelled into throbbing peaks as his teeth brought her to the line between pain and pleasure. She writhed above him, desperately needing friction down below, and pressed her core against him. “Draco…” she moaned.

His breath hitched. “What would you like, love? Tell me…”

“Anything, everything… touch me…” He flipped her over onto her back, and trailed his lips and tongue down her body, leaving fire in their wake. She convulsed as he drew down over her stomach, both ticklish and high on desire.

When he reached her hips, he shifted to the side, leaving her suddenly bereft of his wet lips on her skin. His fingers grasped her legs, bending them gently at the knees, and she felt the pressure of his touch on her inner thighs as he spread her legs wide and placed her feet near her bum, so she was open and exposed for him.

He focused his attention between her legs, and dipped two fingers inside her, crooking them against her G spot. The electricity she’d been seeking wrought a loud moan from her throat. He drew her wetness out and pressed it against her clit, creating a delicious slick friction that had her keening. He continually repeated his movements, eyes focused on his ministrations.

When he started using his other hand, one inside her and one on her clit, increasing his pressure and speed, the sensations became nearly overwhelming. She pumped her hips into his hands, chasing the high, until she finally tipped over the edge with a low scream. 

She rode his fingers while he watched her, entranced. As soon as she came down from her peak, he urged her to turn over. He pulled her hips off the bed so she was on her knees with her arse in the air, and he pressed into her from behind. 

“Hermione,” he bit out, “seeing you come around my fingers, I could come right now. I’ll do my best to hold off if you want another…”

“Come inside me, Draco. Whenever you want.” She bucked back against him with each of his harsh forward thrusts, her hands scrabbling for stability against his satin-like sheets. It felt _delicious._ She wanted to hurt tomorrow, to feel that he’d been in her. “You feel so good inside me… like it’ll never be enough.”

“Never be enough?” he growled. “What do you like, Hermione? Deep and slow? Rough play?”

“I don’t know,” she moaned. “Just you, I want you, I want to feel all day tomorrow that you’ve been inside me.”

He slammed into her hard, pushing her up the bed, and his hand snuck around to rub her again. “Oh god!” she cried when she felt his fingers slick over her clit. “Right there, just like that! Oh god!”

A few more passes of his fingers and she was done for. She moaned incoherently as her orgasm rocked through her, and before it had completely finished, he turned them again so she was on her back.

He gripped the backs of her thighs and pushed her knees toward her shoulders, her feet in the air above her chest, her curls splayed around her head. His hands pressed behind her knees, preventing her from moving, and her hips almost ached from being folded in half. He rose up, hands still holding her legs in place, and he vigorously rubbed the tip of his cock in and out of her entrance.

“You want to feel me tomorrow?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes,” she gulped. 

He sped up his pace, rubbing just his head roughly in and out while he kept her legs splayed and her entrance stretched tight. The friction of his harsh movements began to hurt, in a sublime way, and just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, he plunged fully into her, and with several more thrusts, he came. She gazed at him in awe as he towered over her, his eyes closed and his face screwed up in pleasure that looked like pain as he emptied himself inside her.

Once his movements stilled, he pulled them onto their sides, facing each other, while he was still sheathed inside her. They lay there for several minutes, breaths ragged, before he cast a _Scourgify_ and a quick contraceptive spell. 

Hermione felt like jelly; she thought she might sink into the bed and never move again. Her fingers traced lightly over his chest while he lay there, spent. 

He pressed kisses to her fingers. They gazed at each other, chocolate and silver eyes inches apart. “Will you stay the night?” he asked, feigning confidence, but she could see the apprehension in his eyes.

“Yes,” she whispered, and she leaned forward and captured his lips. Elation coursed through him and he tugged her close, pressing together every possible inch of bare skin between them.

As their heart rates settled, they scooted under the covers, the weight of his duvet settling around them like a warm cocoon. After a few more lazy kisses, they fell asleep with Hermione spooned against him, her back against his front and his arm wrapped protectively around her.

-o~0~o-

Hermione stirred in the middle of the night, disoriented for a moment as she tried to figure out where she was. She felt the gentle rise and fall of Draco’s chest against her back as he slept, and realized she was in his bed. She smiled and snuggled more closely into him, twining her fingers through his, where they rested against her waist, and fell back to sleep.


	9. The Start (Golden Pancakes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pancakes referred to in the chapter title are English pancakes, which are thin, like French crepes, not fluffy like American pancakes. Just so you have the proper visual. :)
> 
> Huge thanks to my alphabet canttouchthis and Astrangefan, who save you all from having to read through way too much detail on everything from coronavirus science to the inner workings of Hermione's mind. They keep my analytical brain in check so the story keeps flowing. 
> 
> An additional aesthetic illustrating the last scene in this chapter is on my tumblr page, handle ElizColl1035. If you like Draco's look in that scene, check it out. Happy New Year everyone!

Morning light peeked through the curtains as Hermione’s eyes blinked open. She and Draco had shifted apart at some point during the night. Books always described lovers waking up in each other’s arms, a tangled mess of bodies and limbs, invariably involving ‘hard members’ nudging an arse, or breasts possessively gripped by strong hands, or both. She didn’t know about other couples, but she and Ron had never spooned all night without someone overheating or waking up with a limb completely numb. 

It seemed sharing a bed with Draco was the same. They were each cozily ensconced in their own spots under his sumptuous bed linens, body temperatures happily regulated, and blood coursing freely and painlessly through all limbs. Together, but apart. Or, maybe, apart but together was more apt phrasing. 

Turning on her side, she smiled as she studied his sleeping form. His short hair was a bit mussed, and his blonde stubble glinted lightly in the golden glow filtering through the curtains. She scooted over, her bare skin sliding smoothly over the sheets, and lay her head on his shoulder. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and she pressed a gentle kiss against his neck, his skin warm under her lips. He stirred and wrapped his arm around her hip, pulling her in closer, and she nuzzled further into him. 

His breathing stayed slow, and he fell quickly back into a light doze. Relaxed and peaceful, she closed her eyes again. Her brain wanted to question what she’d gotten herself into by staying the night, what he would expect from her, what kind of conversation they probably needed to have. Her relaxed body, though, and her contentment at being pressed into his side, overrode her mind’s urge to analyze her situation. They lay there, dozing in and out, until Draco finally shifted, and they both woke more fully. 

“Good morning,” she whispered into his neck.

“It most certainly is,” he breathed, “waking with you in my bed.” He pressed a kiss into her curls and turned onto his side, so they faced each other, only inches apart. She could see every eyelash, each barely-there line at the corners of his eyes. He traced his fingers along her face, their gentle tickle sending small shivers through her. “How did you sleep?” 

She smiled. “Quite well. And you?”

His lips curled into a smile, too. “Better than I have in a long awhile.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers for a gentle good morning kiss, before pulling back and running his hand down her side, barely grazing the outer curve of her breast. 

Hermione sucked in a light gasp and cast a quick breath freshening charm on them both. Shifting closer and pressing her bare chest to his, she picked their kiss back up and deepened it into something more passionate and fulfilling. She felt him stirring against her hips, and his “hard member” made its inevitable appearance. As far as Hermione was concerned, romance novels and their need for spooning could go to hell. 

In a matter of seconds, she was beneath him, his fingers and lips trailing reverent paths along her skin. Her body thrummed against his touch, and she gripped his back, his bum, his hair, anywhere she could reach, while he played with her body and brought her slowly and steadily to the edge of the cliff, then pushed her over into oblivion. 

The heady scent of arousal was thick in the air as she returned to her senses, and her skin flushed with her need for all of him. Their hips joined together in a tangle of soft moans and twisted bed sheets, and she relished the feel of him around her, in her, while he brought her to the edge of the cliff again. Tipping over the edge, she gasped, writhing in ecstasy beneath him. 

When she opened her eyes and gazed into his hooded gray ones staring fervently back at her, she briefly felt like she’d finally found home. She pulled him into an ardent kiss while he slid against her, reaching his own euphoria in her arms. They collapsed into each other, breathing heavily, and trailing tender touches along bare skin.

When their heart rates finally slowed, Draco cast a contraceptive spell and asked, “Do you want to go out for brunch, or cook in?” He kissed her hair. “You will stay for breakfast?”

She tilted her head, kissing his lips, and whispered, “Of course. Let’s stay in. I don’t feel like getting dressed. Is that okay?”

“As in, not getting dressed at all? That’s more than okay!” He leered at her. “Although the sight of you naked in my dining room might make me forget about breakfast and take you on the table instead.” 

She giggled and thumped a throw pillow onto his head. 

“Ow!” He held his arms up to shield himself, too late. “Yes, we can stay in, and I promise not to take you on the dining table, dressed or not.” His mischievous grin aroused her all over again.

He gave her another short kiss before rising from the bed. Hermione wet her lips while she watched his delectable arse as he moved toward his closet. She realized she rarely complimented him on his appearance, assuming he was constantly aware of his Adonis-like image. “Malfoy, you have the most stunning arse. I’m getting turned on again just staring at it.”

He turned back with a cocky grin. “Granger, if that’s all it takes to turn you on, I may start walking around without pants any time you come over.” 

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at him. “You’re hopeless!”

“I know you find it endearing, love.” Her stomach dropped, as it did every time he called her ‘love.’ He continued, “Do you want Mickey to make us brunch, or do you prefer we make it ourselves? Whatever your preference is, I aim to please.” He sent her another cocky grin over his shoulder. 

Hermione remained on the bed and pulled her knees to her chest, sheets pooling around her feet. “About Mickey…” Now was as good a time as any, she thought. “You said he would be affronted if you offered to pay him. Do you know that because you’ve talked to him about it? Or is that just an assumption?”

He stopped in the closet door and shook his head with a light laugh. “Granger, your persistence and your bleeding heart are both lovely qualities.” He grabbed a heathered blue long sleeve shirt from a drawer, and Hermione’s mouth watered as his muscles rippled while he pulled it over his head and down his torso. 

“I appreciate your concern for Mickey, but he wouldn’t want to be paid. And no, I have not talked to him about it, because he would be offended if I did.” He shimmied into a pair of black briefs, unfortunately covering his divine arse. “But if you want to speak to Mickey, by all means, go ahead. I can’t promise that he’ll talk to you or serve you after you do, though.”

Hermione scrunched her nose; bits of dust gleamed white in a ray of sunlight before her while she considered her response. “I suppose if you think he might not speak to me if I offend him, then he feels safe enough in your household to express himself…” 

Draco nodded. “I treat him well. He has days off, and he wants for nothing.”

She sighed. “It’s not my place to insert myself in your relationship with your house elf. But, I’d prefer we make breakfast ourselves.”

“That can be done.”

Draco pulled on a pair of navy joggers, and came over to her, reaching out a hand. “Come on, let’s find you some clothes.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you really did plan on eating breakfast in the buff.”

She snickered and grabbed his hand, letting him pull her from the bed. Her toes curled into the soft lambskin rug as her feet hit the ground. Draco cupped her face with both hands and gave her a soft, sweet kiss, before leading her to the closet and pointing out his shirts and joggers. “Choose whatever you fancy, and you can resize the clothes to fit if you like.” He left Hermione to dress while he used the loo. 

She summoned her bra, because Merlin knew she wasn’t going to walk around braless; nursing two children had seen to that. Hermione shuffled through his shirts, and was intrigued by a flash of Slytherin green in the back of the rack. She grabbed it and discovered it was his old Hogwarts Quidditch jersey. Laughing at the thought of how much their teenage selves hated each other, she slipped it over her head, tossing her curls out on top of it. She found a pair of his joggers and tugged them on, resizing them so they stayed on her waist, and padded across the room toward the loo.

Draco opened the bathroom door, smiling. “So what sounds good for…” his words died on his lips, and he pulled up short when he caught sight of her; his eyes widened in an unreadable expression.

Hermione halted her steps. “Are… you okay?” 

He jerked his head, as if shaking away unwanted thoughts. “Yes, yes… I’m fine. What… what do you want for breakfast?” His cocky assurance from before was gone, and his voice was flat.

“Draco, what’s wrong?” She furrowed her brows and approached him slowly, as if he were a skittish animal that might bolt if she moved too fast. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I haven’t seen that jersey in a long time. Astoria used to wear it around the house; it basically became hers.”

Hermione’s face fell; she felt awful. “I’m so sorry, Draco.” She fidgeted with the hem of the shirt and began pulling it off. 

“No, no. You don’t have to take it off,” he protested. “It’s fine; it just surprised me.” He tried for a chuckle. “My 15-year-old self probably wouldn’t believe it if he knew that one day Hermione Granger would be standing in his bedroom in his house Quidditch jersey.”

Hermione had put the shirt on with a similar thought in her head, but she didn’t feel comfortable joking about it now. She hurried back to his closet, pulling the jersey off as she went. “Draco, I’ll change into something else, hang on…” She grabbed the first shirt she found, a plain gray tee, and she shoved it on while her mind raced through what to say to him.

She jumped when he stepped up behind her and pulled her close. He spoke quietly, his chin resting on her head. “I’m sorry this is awkward.”

Hermione turned around to face him, his fingers laced around her waist. “It’s okay, love,” she said. His eyes flashed at her use of his endearment. “You have nothing to apologize for. It’s going to happen sometimes. I know you still miss her. The grief never really goes away does it?”

He shook his head and swallowed. “No, I’ve just gotten more accustomed to living with it.”

She bit her lip. “It’s okay for us to talk about her. She’ll always be with you, be a part of you. That shirt should belong to her, or her memory. No one can replace her.” 

Draco’s eyes glistened, and he pulled her into a rough hug. His chest heaved under her cheek while he took deep breaths to compose himself. Eventually, he whispered in her ear, “Thank you.” 

Pulling apart, he cleared his throat and threw an arm around her shoulders, drawing strength from their touch. “Let’s go down and make some breakfast; I’m hungry!”

-o~0~o-

“These are delicious!” Hermione exclaimed. Sitting next to Draco at the breakfast bar, she relished the sweetness of the pancake and syrup contrasting with the tart sliced pears and tangy goat cheese on her tongue. 

Draco eyed her. “You sound surprised.”

She waved her fork at him. “You made it sound like Mickey makes all your meals and you never lift a finger in the kitchen! And then you produce this?!”

He shrugged his shoulders and drawled, “What can I say, Granger? I’m a man of many talents.” He picked up a sausage. “Your sausages are quite tasty as well.”

Hermione snorted. “All I did was fry them up. Doesn’t take much skill. Anyway, I want your recipe for these pancakes and toppings.”

“Sorry, I won’t share it with you.” He smirked. “If you want it, you’ll have to come here for breakfast. It’s part of my evil plan to get you to spend more time with me.”

Sweet baby Jesus and all the disciples, why had she been pushing this man away for the past month? _Because you’re kind of an emotional mess right now, Hermione._

She swiveled to him in her bar seat and leaned closer to him, her face softening. ”Draco, I would love to spend more time with you. I’m happy when we’re together.” His smirk turned into a soft grin. “But, I’ve been thinking about my own issues, and I think I should be honest with you before you decide if you really want to spend more time together.”

His grin faded, replaced by a mixture of confusion and trepidation. “Honest about what?”

“I enjoy being with you so much.” She smiled softly. “But I don’t have much emotional energy right now—the divorce is still so fresh—and the thought of putting anyone else’s needs, besides Rose and Hugo, before my own sounds exhausting. 

“I know I won’t be that way forever, but I worry it may cause problems in the short term if we start seeing each other more seriously—that I won’t be able to be an equal partner to you.” She gazed at him earnestly. 

His gaze flicked back and forth between her eyes, as he considered his response. “Are you saying you want to stop dating? Or just letting me know what you’re worried about?” 

“I don’t want to stop dating you,” Hermione replied. “I’d like to see you more than we have been.” He smiled slightly at this, while she continued, “I’m just worried my issues are going to cause problems: that I’ll hold back, and that you’ll want more than I can give. It’s not the greatest place to start a relationship. 

“And I don’t want this to be a rebound relationship either—which, statistically, it could very well be. If you want to call things off, or wait until I’m in a better place and try something then, if the timing’s right… I’d understand.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to end this just because of the fear that some things might be hard. I hear what you’re saying; I agree it might be difficult for us sometimes. But I’d rather try and fail than not try because it _might_ fail.” He took a deep breath. “I’d like to give this a go, if you’re serious about what you're saying.” He studied her, apprehensive as he waited for her response. 

She nodded, heart racing at the import of the words she was about to utter. “I am. I’ll do my best to talk about this if we need to.” She looked up at him. “Will you do the same? If we’re going to really give ‘us’ a go, we probably need to try to communicate more than most new couples do.” She couldn’t quite believe she was going to make room for him in her life; and she had called them a ‘couple’!

He nodded, relief and joy both flooding his features, though he tried to cover them up and play it cool.

She smiled at him, smitten with his combination of confidence and openness. “I’d like more of this,” she motioned at their breakfast plates and lounge clothes. “More of last night, more of this morning. More of you. Just… be patient with me when I need time to myself. And if you feel me pulling away, know that it’s me, and not you?”

He nodded his understanding. Then, suppressing a smirk, he said, “So… are you saying my evil pancake plan worked?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes, batting at him for his insouciant remark. He caught her hands and held them tight. “Yes,” she smiled at him as she leaned forward. “Your evil pancake plan worked; I’ll spend the night any time I want this delectable breakfast again.” She hovered inches from his face. “You know what else is delectable?” She looked down at his mouth and back up to his eyes. “Your lips.”

He closed the last few inches, and they sealed their discussion with a kiss over their plates of golden pancakes and syrup, and pears and cheese. 

Breaking apart, Draco asked, “Is it too much too soon to ask if you want to spend the rest of the day together before I meet with Mother later this afternoon?”

The thought of spending her day with him, now that everything was out in the open between them, sounded nice. “I’d love to, Draco.”

After a leisurely shower under his double shower heads and a quick trip home to gather fresh clothes, they strolled through town and had a late lunch on Richmond Green. Hermione felt lighter after sharing her concerns with Draco and knowing he still wanted to see her despite her reservations about her own emotional energy. He kissed her goodbye at her door with a sparkle in his eyes, saying he might floo call her tonight if he wasn’t too tired after returning from dinner at the Manor. 

* * *

Draco apparated to the front gate of the Manor, preferring to walk up the front lawn through his mother’s spring garden, rather than arrive via floo. Creeping thyme, purple phlox, yellow and rose yarrow, pale pink dahlias, fuschia bleeding hearts, and giant peonies of all colors surrounded the sloping front walk. The only difference between his mother’s magical garden and a Muggle one was the lack of ants scrambling all over the peony blooms. He magically cut several flowers and some green foliage and conjured a vase, creating a small floral arrangement for his mother. 

They were meeting this afternoon to discuss their dinner at Andromeda’s and prepare for their meeting with Gareth two days hence. They would spend the afternoon together, and he would dine with his parents tonight, as he often did on Sundays.

He was still reeling slightly from the past 24 hours with Hermione. Waking up next to her had been everything he imagined. The sound of her soft moans, the taste of her passionate kisses… the feel of her breath against his neck and their joined hips first thing in the morning… it was an experience he wanted to repeat every day if possible. 

He understood she had reservations about how much energy she had for a relationship, but he was ecstatic that she wanted something more serious with him. Her concerns were valid, and he knew they could cause problems until she recovered her sense of self and her energy post-divorce. But he was willing to work through it with her, and he knew she was more resilient than she realized. Despite her claims of being unable to put others’ needs ahead of her own, she had no problem with him talking about Astoria, for one, and she had been nothing but compassionate after his abrupt reaction to seeing her in his Quidditch jersey this morning. And she got on a broom with him last night, for Merlin’s sake! 

No, nothing could rein in his exhilaration over being half of a ‘couple’ with her. They had parted only ten minutes ago at her door, and he could still taste her on his lips and smell her scent on his skin. With a lingering smile over his thoughts of their time together, he let himself in the front door. He made his way to his mother’s preferred sitting room, robes fluttering behind him as he strode quickly through the house. Narcissa rose as he entered the room. 

“Ah, Draco, good to see you, darling.” She accepted his vase of flowers, inhaling the spicy scent of the peonies, and set it on the table. “Thank you, dear. The garden is beautiful in the spring isn’t it?”

He smiled and exchanged cheek kisses with her. “It is. You’ve outdone yourself this year, Mother.” 

Narcissa gestured to an armchair by the window, which he took, and she sat in the adjoining one. She clapped and called “Holmes!” and an elderly house elf appeared with a tea service, setting it on the table between them. He bowed, croaking, “Master Draco, Mistress Malfoy,” then disappeared again. 

“We have much to discuss this afternoon, my Dragon. Where shall we begin?” Narcissa asked as they prepared their tea and selected sandwiches and scones from the tiered stand.

Draco took a deep breath. “I’ve considered whether I should volunteer to infiltrate Goyle’s group instead of asking Gareth. Helena already lost Astoria. The thought of her worrying over Gareth’s safety now, of the possibility of losing her husband—no matter how remote that possibility is... it doesn’t sit well with me.” He gazed at Narcissa, his pain over losing Astoria fully apparent with her in a way he let no one else see. 

His mother’s pale blue eyes stared back at him while she considered his suggestion. “I don’t think you would be successful in Gareth’s stead; this group of neo-Death Eaters would be suspicious of you.”

Draco knew she was right, but he needed to talk through all angles with her, to be sure, to relieve his doubts. “I could convince them I do business with Muggles solely for profit and still retain my previous Pure-blood views…”

Narcissa smiled in sympathy. “I agree that’s possible, but I think it would be incredibly difficult. Gareth has already been approached by Flint to support his anti-Muggle legislation, and I think it will be easy for him to ingratiate himself with the group. The plan has more chance of success with your father-in-law than you, my dear.” 

Her thoughts were similar to Hermione’s, and Draco nodded while spreading clotted cream on a bite of blueberry scone. “What did Gareth say when you talked with him yesterday?”

“He understands the importance of the issue, and he’s comfortable meeting with Mr. Potter this week to discuss it. He was reserved; I believe he’ll wait to make a decision after he’s heard all of the considerations and confers with Helena.” Narcissa sipped from her teacup, pinky finger poised with perfect precision. 

“I hope the next meeting at The Alchemy Room is soon; we need to quickly find out what they’re planning.” Draco’s brows furrowed, and he explained his concerns regarding the effects of potential anti-Muggle business regulations on PotionLab’s CoVID vaccine development in Britain, and the need to understand their plans and timing sooner than later. 

“I agree, my Dragon,” Narcissa responded. “It would be helpful to know if they’re considering such regulations and, if so, how quickly the regulations might be enacted if Flint’s legislation is successful. I wonder how much support they may have for the legislation from the Wizengamot.” She gestured to the bottom tier of the tea service. “Have another blueberry scone, dear; Holmes made them just for you.” 

Draco gladly took one; they were his favorite. As he swallowed down a bite of scone, a female elf named Olive appeared before them. “Mistress Malfoy,” she squeaked, performing a small curtsy in her pink gingham pinafore, “Master Malfoy be’s having seizures. We is giving him the medicine under his tongue, but he is spitting it out. We is not able to keep his mouth closed for the medicine to work.”

Narcissa rose from her chair immediately. Her eyes flashed at her son. “I’ll be back shortly. Please have some more cakes and tea if you wish.” She then apparated with Olive to Lucius’ quarters.

Draco knew this routine, having lived with it until he moved out several months ago. His father would be fine once his mother assisted. Wizarding potions weren’t as effective as Muggle seizure medication, which had been a large contributor to Narcissa’s revised opinions on the Muggle world. But sometimes, the elves couldn’t handle the seizures on their own, unable to keep his mouth closed long enough for the anti-convulsant to dissolve. 

His father had, to some degree, brought this upon himself by following that crazy bastard in the first place and ending up in Azkaban. However, after interacting with Muggles over the past decade, Draco had come to understand that Muggle prisoners were treated — or were supposed to be treated — with some level of consideration for their physical and mental health. 

Draco honestly felt his family should receive some sort of reparation from the Ministry for the level of damage to Lucius’ health from his years in Azkaban. Muggles came to settlements over wrongful treatment like this all the time. Someday in the future, he might fight that battle, but for now, other priorities took precedence. 

Regardless, upon being here during one of his father’s seizure episodes for the first time in over two months, it felt surreal that, when he lived here and split his father’s caretaking duties with his mother, these occurrences were simply a routine and unalarming part of his days. He felt a certain amount of guilt over moving out and leaving his mother to handle this on her own. However, she had assured him that, with the elves, she would be fine, and that she felt a change of domicile would do him good. 

_It certainly did do me good_ , he thought _,_ vivid images from his time with Hermione flashing through his mind. Lost in a mental replay of their leisurely and sensual morning shower, he startled when his mother reappeared at the door. 

“How is he?” Draco asked. 

She waved a hand in the air, nonchalant. “He’s fine. As you know, it’s no problem for him to ingest the medication with my help. Now, where were we?” Draco briefly marveled over her ability to transition from lifesaving to her previous activities in a moment’s time; but then, he had done the same during his time living here as well.

She settled back in her chair, asking, “Have you given thought to Mr. Potter’s request to become a paid consultant to the DMLE during this investigation?”

Draco refrained from rolling his eyes, just barely; he didn’t want to become one of the Ministry’s paid lackeys. “Mother, you know the money is of no consequence.” He gestured to the setting around them. Any paltry sum the Ministry would pay him as a consultant would be irrelevant compared to the size of the Malfoy family’s holdings. “I also don’t particularly want a string of paperwork linking us to the DMLE’s investigation.”

“Well, regardless of payment, the DMLE needs your help.”

“I agree, Mother. And I’m more than willing to provide it. Perhaps the payments could go directly to St. Mungo’s to support your new healing potions research wing.”

Narcissa’s eyes lit up. “The idea has merit, my dear.”

Thinking about his neuropathy discussions with Hermione, a new idea took shape. “The consulting payments would be a trifling sum compared to the total funds needed for capital construction, though. What if, instead of going to the capital campaign, the payments assisted with a particular potions research endeavor? I’ve been thinking lately about renewing the search for a cure to cruciatus-related neuropathy. 

“PotionLab could provide the Muggle half of the equation, as Muggles have medications designed to treat neuropathy, although they haven’t developed a cure either. St. Mungo’s could use that information and the funds from the DMLE’s payments to start research into a magical treatment.”

“That’s a unique proposal, dear.” Narcissa’s face softened. “Have you been experiencing pain lately?”

“No more than usual.” Draco shrugged. “It happens occasionally. I have several friends who have worse issues with it that I do. There are just so many of us” —he inclined his head toward his mother, who had suffered her own fair share of cruciatus torture after Lucius’s bungled battle in the Department of Mysteries their fifth year— “who suffer from it. It seems we should be able to develop a more effective treatment than what’s currently available.”

Narcissa raised a perfectly plucked brow and took a sip of tea. “I suppose since we’re leading the campaign for the new research wing and donating a significant portion of the funds, we can also direct some of the research efforts as we see fit.” She nodded, coming to agreement with Draco’s proposal. “Yes, I think your proposal is worth exploring, Draco.”

“Good. I’ll arrange a meeting with Potter to talk through the consulting terms; would you like to join us?” Narcissa nodded her consent, and they placed their tea cups down, finished with the serious part of their afternoon. Draco pressed his hands into his thighs, rising from his chair, and held his hand out to Narcissa, assisting her up. “Come, show me the back gardens, Mother.”

She summoned her outer cloak, and they walked to the sprawling patio that overlooked the back half of the estate. Thank Merlin they had gotten rid of the peacocks his father had so loved; Draco had banished them as soon as Lucius had been imprisoned. 

Walking toward the closest garden, Narcissa turned to him, studying him as they strolled. Draco glanced at her, a question on his face, and she smiled. “You’ve seemed happier lately, dear. I’m pleased to see you more content.”

Draco was speechless for a moment, unable to confide the source of his happiness to his mother until Hermione’s divorce was public. Quickly, he softened his eyes and smiled back at his mother. “The move has done me good. I still worry about you alone in the Manor without me, but creating my own space has brought me more peace. Thank you for your support, Mother.”

She clasped his hand in hers as they reached a bed of roses. “You’re welcome, my Dragon. I would do anything for you.”

He wanted to hug her, but she still clung to traditional Pure-blood ways, and such physical sentiments weren’t proper. Instead, he squeezed her hand back and simply said, “Thank you.” 

* * *

Tuesday afternoon arrived and, full of nerves over asking his father-in-law to become— essentially—a spy, Draco stood from his desk and closed his leather folio, tucking it in his briefcase. Shrinking the attaché, he pocketed it in his trousers, his hand brushing against a small bear figurine in his pocket. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased as he ran his fingers along the miniature carving Hermione had given him. 

Hermione had stayed over Sunday night with him, after his dinner at the Manor, and waking up with her in his bed two mornings in a row had felt like a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. He’d eaten dinner at her house last night, and he’d been intrigued by the stylized carved wooden bear on her shelf. Her parents had purchased it on a trip to North America after Hermione had restored their memories, several years after the war. 

Bears represented strength, courage, and leadership and were viewed as protectors of the animal kingdom by many Native American tribes. Her parents had given it to her as a symbol of their forgiveness for her obliviating them, and their understanding of the courage and leadership she had provided wizarding society during the war. 

Her tale was touching, and when Hermione had seen how entranced he was with the figurine, she had offered it to him for strength in the coming weeks. With a last stroke of the bear’s carved ears, Draco twisted around and apparated to the Greengrass Estate. He waited for his mother and Potter to arrive, and they announced themselves at the front door. 

Helena and Gareth greeted them together. Gareth, unlike his daughters, had dark hair, with streaks of silver throughout. He stood several inches taller than Draco, his burgundy-lined gray robes hanging regally from his lofty frame. He was an imposing man, but incredibly generous with those he liked, and his trim beard and mustache crept up his cheeks as his lips curved into a broad smile at the sight of Narcissa and Draco. 

Astoria and Daphne had inherited their blonde hair from their mother, Helena. Her tresses hung in long waves down the back of her ruby red robes, the sides of her waves clipped back with gold and pearl encrusted pins. Draco hadn’t realized his mother-in-law would be meeting with them, too; he was glad she was present and would be able to directly hear and understand the risks involved with the DMLE’s request of Gareth. 

Narcissa introduced the Greengrasses to Potter, and Gareth then led them into an opulent study overlooking the front lawn of the estate. The group sat around a Baroque-style table, inlaid with holly, ebony, and kingwood in an intricate marquetry pattern. A house elf delivered tea, and after beverages were prepared, Harry began speaking.

“Right. Mr. Greengrass, Mrs. Greengrass,” Potter nodded at them each in turn, “thank you for meeting with us today. I understand Mrs. Malfoy has explained to you the basics of our request?”

Gareth nodded yes, his long, wavy hair brushing his shoulders as he did so, and Helena spoke a prim and quiet “yes.”

Potter pulled a small folder from his Auror robes and enlarged it, laying it on the table. He pulled various documents out, spreading them across the table for Helena and Gareth to view. The Auror proceeded to explain his findings from his investigations at the Ministry and how they related to the information the Greengrasses had heard. He also explained the DMLE’s coordination of the investigation with the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and mentioned the Minister’s trip to Romania this week to address a similar, but more rapidly emerging uprising in that country. 

“As you know,” Potter said, “Draco discovered that a group of Death Eater sympathizers are meeting at Greg Goyle’s restaurant. We think infiltrating this group is our best opportunity to gather more comprehensive information regarding their anti-Muggle plans. Since Flint and other members of the Sacred 28 have already approached you both,” he looked to Helena and Gareth, “we’d like to ask you to join Goyle’s group and act as an informant for the DMLE.”

“I’ll do it,” Gareth answered immediately. Potter glanced quickly at Draco, surprised at Gareth’s agreement before asking any follow up questions. Draco was also unprepared for Gareth’s immediate acquiescence. The Greengrasses seemed intent on taking on this task, and Draco realized they were unlikely to entertain his concerns over the risks to Gareth’s safety. 

“Thank you, Mr. Greengrass,” Potter replied. “Do you have any questions before we talk through the logistics?” 

Gareth and Helena looked at one another, and Helena spoke this time. “No. We can ask questions as we discuss the logistics. Gareth and I have talked about your request extensively since Narcissa contacted us on Saturday. We realize there are risks involved, but we feel the risks are worth it. If we have the opportunity to suppress a nascent Death Eater uprising, it’s our responsibility to do so.” She looked across the table at Draco. “Astoria would have wanted us to do this, and we can honor her memory by doing what is good and right, as she always strived to do.”

Draco swallowed, a lump forming in his throat, and his mother clasped his hand, giving it a light squeeze. He nodded, and simply said, “Thank you,” unsure his voice would hold steady if he spoke more. The Greengrasses seemed to understand, and they turned to Harry, asking about the execution of the plan. 

Draco listened closely, stroking the wooden bear in his pocket. He drew on its strength, trying to stay calm over the danger he knew Gareth was walking into.

After a half hour of discussion, their plan was settled. Gareth would approach Flint this evening to learn more about the legislation, implying his support for it, and solicit an invitation to Goyle’s meetings. Once he learned when the next meeting would be held, communications would go from Gareth to Helena, Helena to Narcissa, Narcissa to Draco, and Draco to Potter. The roundabout communication chain was inconvenient, but ensured the safety of all parties, particularly if any traces were placed on Gareth after his contact with the Death Eater group.

They left the Greengrasses’ home, and while the knot in Draco’s stomach was still present, it felt more tolerable knowing that his in-laws understood the risks they were facing and felt the opportunity to do good was worth the dangers involved.

* * *

That night, Draco took a final bite of roast chicken and scooted back in his dining chair, motioning for Hermione to come around the table. She set down her wine glass and joined him; he pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and breathing in her light jasmine fragrance. 

After a punishing evening run to work off the stress of meeting with Gareth and Helena, he had invited Hermione over for dinner. She had happily accepted, and he relayed the outcome of this afternoon’s discussion over their meal. He assumed Gareth was currently meeting with Flint, and he wondered how the conversation was going. 

Burying his nose in Hermione’s side, he switched mental gears to the potions lists Potter had given him. “I still haven’t figured out the commonalities among the potions stolen from St. Mungo’s and the group homes. I need to get back to Potter soon.” Pulling away from her fragrant blouse for a moment, he looked up at her. “Would you be willing to look through the potions lists with me tonight? You’re almost as brilliant at potions as I am” —she batted him on the head, and he smirked. “It’s true, love! I know you’re thinking you couldn’t possibly be close to my level, but don’t sell yourself short.” 

She hopped off his lap, muttering, “You’re insufferable, Malfoy!” 

He laughed with a glint in his eye and grabbed her arm before she could escape, pulling her back onto his lap. She squirmed, which only succeeded in arousing him, and he debated vanishing her clothes and taking her on the table right now. However, a leisurely bout of lovemaking in his study after they perused the potions lists sounded even more appealing. Some quill play with vanishing ink… She continued to squirm and, between her movements and the thought of his quill tracing over her naked body, he became fully hard. 

He pinned her against him to stop her wriggling, and growled, “Stop moving, Hermione.”

She looked down at him and laughed, shifting her bum minutely under his firm grip, now fully aware of the effect she was having on him. “Problems, Malfoy? Getting a little too _excited_ about potions research?”

He gritted out, “Indeed. Would you like to see?”

She looked at him in question. 

He pushed his imagined scenes from his study to the forefront of his mind and winked at her. “Use legilimency, love. Take a look.” 

He felt her slip into his mind, and he concentrated on the image of her naked body on the rug by his desk. With his quill, he traced vanishing ink down her collarbone and over her breasts, circling closer to each nipple and then covering them in black ink as they swelled and hardened into peaks under the quill’s touch. He blew on her nipples to dry the ink, then lightly teased them with the feather end, drawing small moans from her in his mind. 

He drew curling patterns between her breasts, then moved the quill lower, making wavy lines across her ribs as he went. Re-inking the quill, he drew a large snake on her stomach, enchanting it to slither around her torso. In his mind, she could feel the snake’s movement over her skin, squirming at its touch as slithered around her body. After a circuitous route around her back, its forked tongue crept toward her sex, following the path of his quill. 

Draco heard her breath quicken and knew his mental imagery was affecting her. Concentrating on the scene, he dragged the quill still lower, circling black ink over her hip bones, making her writhe as it touched the sensitive skin there. He pulled the quill down further, drawing curlicues across her pubic bone, then trailed the feather end over her sex several times. She arched into its touch, while the enchanted snake continued to slither across her torso. Naked Hermione panted on the floor, while Hermione in his lap breathed shallow and quick.

In his mind, he traced the ink across the tops of her thighs, then pushed her legs open and drew his name on her inner thigh, the last flourish of the “y” ending at her labia. He was staking his claim, and he knew she could feel his possessiveness while she was in his mind. Naked Hermione’s legs trembled, and back in the dining room, her breath hitched and she squeezed her fingers into his thighs. 

She lingered in his head, clearly aroused and waiting to see what he would do next. He smirked; she would have to wait and see in person. He gently pushed her out of his mind, and they sat there, breathing heavily at the shared images of his fantasy. Her pupils were blown wide as he gazed into her toffee-colored eyes. “If I help you with the potions lists,” she breathed, “that will be my reward?”

“Indeed,” he drawled. “Did you enjoy that?”

She nodded, at a loss for words, which made him rather proud. Hermione Granger was rarely speechless. He was delighted that he’d turned her into a quivering puddle of sexual need on his lap. 

“Let’s get to work then,” he murmured. She slowly inched off his lap, her breathing still shallow and eyes still dark with desire. 

He led her to his study and levitated a second chair over to his desk so they could sit side by side as they looked through the lists. They both inhaled sharply when he pulled out the quills and parchment, and he couldn’t resist dragging the feather along her jawline. She closed her eyes at the sensation, and he slowly trailed it to the top button at the vee of her blouse. She wet her lips with her tongue, drawing his attention, then she pushed the quill away, saying, “Right. Let’s get this done then.”

Laughing at her eagerness to get to the more playful part of their evening, he summoned Potter’s lists of potions from the shelf and spread them on the desk in front of them. He took out his reading glasses and placed them on his nose, prompting a little intake of breath from Hermione. He turned and caught her staring at him. “You like these?” he asked, indicating his glasses. 

“I do,” she said, biting her lip. “You look… incredibly sexy in them.” A grin spread across his face at her compliment. “Will you leave them on afterward, you know, when I’m down on the rug and you have the quill? You’ll need them to see what you’re writing on me, won’t you?” Dear Merlin, he didn’t know if he could wait until they finished looking through these blasted potions lists. 

“Of course, love,” he breathed, squeezing her thigh firmly. She scooted her chair a little closer to his, sending a waft of her jasmine scent his way, and they settled into the task at hand. Heads together, they pored over the lists of potions, putting them in different groups based on common ingredients, applications, and uses. 

The two worked together for over an hour, talking, writing, taking notes, occasionally referencing potions books in his library. Suddenly, Hermione gasped and pointed at one of their lists. 

“Draco, look at these base ingredients. Do you see any commonalities?” Draco scanned the list several times, and then his eyes widened. 

“Bloody hell,” he breathed. Hermione looked at him, eyes wide herself, as she seemed to have reached the same horrifying conclusion he’d come to. “We’ve got to get Potter over here, now.” 


	10. Discoveries (Butterbeer)

_From last chapter: “Draco, look at these base ingredients. Do you see any commonalities?” Draco scanned the list several times, and then his eyes widened._

_“Bloody hell,” he breathed. Hermione looked at him, eyes wide herself, as she seemed to have reached the same horrifying conclusion he’d come to. “We’ve got to get Potter over here, now.”_

* * *

Hermione ran to Draco’s fireplace to call Harry, but they didn’t have a floo connection between them. Quickly, she traveled to her house, calling him from there. 

Harry stepped up to the grate. “Hi, Hermione! What’s going on?”

“Hi,” she rushed out. “I’ve been at Draco’s, working through the stolen potions lists you gave him. Can you come over? We think someone’s conducting experiments on patients. We discovered a pattern in the base ingredients of the stolen potions.” She twisted her hands. 

His eyes widened. “Hang on.” He stepped out of view, and she could hear mumbling between Harry and Ginny in the background, before he appeared back at the fireplace. “I’ll be there in five minutes, Hermione. Just let me wrap up here.”

Once he stepped into her house, they immediately took the floo to Draco’s. Gathering in the study, Hermione and Draco explained what they had found. Draco pointed to the various lists they had developed while looking for commonalities among the potions.

“This one here,” he grabbed a list in Hermione’s handwriting and held it out for Harry to see, “lists the base ingredients for each of the potions. Every stolen potion has at least one or two bases with the primary purposes of magic suppression, strengthening properties, or disease inducement.”

“Disease inducement?” Harry brows furrowed. “Why would a hospital have potions that induce disease? Aren’t those dark magic?”

“No; that’s what’s interesting about this list of potions,” Hermione said. “A base ingredient’s main purpose can be different from the finished potion’s use. So this potion,” she pointed to one on the list, “is similar to Skele-grow. One of its base ingredients is sumac, which has a main purpose of disease inducement. But once sumac is mixed with the other ingredients in this potion, it helps regrow bones.”

“Okay…” Harry trailed off. “So all the stolen potions have bases used for magic suppression, strengthening, and disease. What does that mean?”

Draco replied, “Given how the bases interact with each other, we think the potions are being modified; we think they’re increasing the base potency and then using them to experiment on patients. For instance, if you add a strengthening base to magic suppression and disease inducement bases, you could increase disease intensity and transmission in patients.”

Harry took a moment to fully take in Draco’s explanation. “So, you’re saying they’re modifying potions to _cause_ illness and contagion?”

“That’s what we think, yes,” Hermione responded. 

Harry asked, “Okay… but if you wanted to develop a potion to cause contagious disease, why steal potions from St. Mungo’s? Why not just obtain the ingredients from an apothecary and develop the potions on your own?”

Hermione tilted her head, thinking. “Most of the potions on your list are proprietary to St. Mungo’s. Mungo’s sells them to group homes and other facilities, and they can’t be purchased anywhere else. If someone wanted to modify them, they’d have to steal them so they could derive the recipe and then revise it.”

“Makes sense. But how do you make the leap from tampering with potions to experimenting on patients?” Harry asked.

Draco said, “I think the thieves’ intent is to increase the potency of the dark base ingredients so that the potions appear to be the same — so the healers using them wouldn’t notice the difference — but ultimately make patients sicker. If they replaced the original potions at St. Mungo’s and the group homes with the tampered ones, the potions would be used on patients without the healers realizing they’ve been modified.”

Harry nodded. It was confusing, but the explanation seemed possible. “Alright. Why would someone want to do that?” 

Hermione looked baffled, but Draco’s face twisted into a grimace. “I think it might be similar to what we discussed at The Alchemy Room. If the new Death Eater group is behind it, they could be testing whether certain diseases make Half-bloods or Muggle-borns sicker than Pure-bloods, or experimenting to see if they can make those groups susceptible to CoVID specifically. It would fit with how they’re using the pandemic politically to try to isolate Muggle-borns.” 

Hermione gasped, not privy to Draco and Harry’s prior conversation, and Harry’s brows furrowed in concern. “Well, hopefully your theory is worse than reality. But, we all know fear is an effective means of political control... I’ll get the DMLE moving on this first thing in the morning. We’ll need to ask the directors at St. Mungo’s and the group homes if their stores of these potions have been tampered with or replaced. 

“If your suspicion is correct, Malfoy, perhaps the thieves — or Death Eaters, whoever’s behind it — have an employee at the facilities who’s carrying all of this out and monitoring patients’ responses to the modified potions.” He nodded to the parchment Draco had been holding during their conversation. “Can you make me a copy of that list of base ingredients and uses?” 

Malfoy duplicated it and handed the copy to him. 

“Thanks,” Harry grimaced. “I’ll let you know how the investigation goes — hopefully we’ll have some kind of news by the time I see you at the Quidditch game Saturday.” He shook Draco’s hand and gave Hermione a quick hug before leaving, preoccupied with the information they’d relayed. 

Hermione turned to Draco, suddenly exhausted. “I think I’m heading home now. I’m really tired, and I have a long day tomorrow.” 

Draco nodded, but before he could say anything in response, they heard his mother’s voice calling from the fireplace in the living room. Draco breathed, “Hopefully Mother has news from Gareth’s meeting with Flint tonight. Will you hang out here ‘til I’m done?”

Hermione nodded assent, and Draco left the room. Knackered, she flopped onto the leather couch by the window, trying to make sense of everything they’d discussed. She couldn’t come up with anything useful though; she was too worn out for problem solving. She leaned forward when Draco returned. “What did your mother say?”

“Gareth met with Flint tonight. He convinced Flint of his support for the anti-Muggle legislation and asked how else he could help. Flint invited him to the meetings at The Alchemy Room, which is great news. The next one’s a week from today, so we don’t have too long to wait, thankfully.”

Hermione let out a sigh of relief, feeling things were finally moving in the right direction; hopefully they could get enough information to stamp out this Pure-blood supremacy drivel. She rubbed her temples and gave him a tired smile. “I really need to go to bed, babe; I’m worn out.” 

Draco held out a hand to pull her up. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay here? I can get you settled…” 

She shook her head and smiled feebly up at him. “No, that’s okay. I’m just tired. I’ll probably fall asleep as soon as I get in bed.” She hugged him, pressing her cheek into his chest before they parted with a gentle kiss. 

* * *

“That’s it, Rose! To the right!” Ron yelled. Hermione was on her feet, too, fists clenched in anticipation as their daughter neared the Slytherin Keeper with the Quaffle tucked under her arm. Hugo bounced up and down between his parents, cheering his sister on. They were at the last Quidditch match of the school year, and Hermione was looking forward to Gryffindor soundly beating Slytherin so she could tease Malfoy about it.

With a quick feint to the left, a dodge under an oncoming Bludger, and a lightning fast rush at the goal posts, Rose scored, the Quaffle passing just out of reach of the Slytherin Keeper’s fingers. The entire Gryffindor section jumped up in claps and cheers, and Ron and Hugo held their wands up, emitting celebratory gold sparks. Several seats down, Lily and Harry did the same.

The two teams had been neck and neck for the past half hour. Rose’s goal brought Gryffindor ahead by 10 points, the current score now 80-70, while the Seekers flew high above the other players, looking for the Snitch. Hermione looked across the pitch at the Slytherin section, eyes settling on the flash of white-blonde hair between Narcissa Malfoy and Gareth Greengrass. 

“Mum, look!” Hugo grabbed her knee to get her attention. “James and Mabel are fighting over the Quaffle!” He pointed to the far side of the pitch, where Harry and Ginny’s son was engaged in a tug of war with Marcus Flint’s daughter. 

Hermione felt slightly sick watching them careen around with only their legs gripping their broom handles, while their hands grappled over the Quaffle. A Bludger came their way, and they dodged apart in different directions, Flint’s daughter coming out of their skirmish victorious with the Quaffle in her hands. 

Hugo let out a loud moan and slammed his fists on his thighs, red curls ruffling in the windy afternoon breeze. 

Ron bumped shoulders with him. “He’ll get it back, Hugh. James is one of the best Chasers ever.”

“You know it!” shouted Ginny from Ron’s other side. “Best one since me, at least!” 

Harry laughed next to her and shook his head. Looking down the row, he said, “Hugh, don’t ever look for lessons in humility from your Aunt Ginny.”

Hugo grinned at them both and turned his attention back to the pitch, just in time to see Flint’s daughter score on the Gryffindor Keeper, tying the score back up at 80-80. “Argh,” he moaned. 

Their son stood during a brief lull in the action, pocketing his wand back in his robes. “Mum, dad, I’m heading back to my mates. I’ll find you after the game to say ‘bye.” 

Hermione dragged him into a hug, which he returned half-heartedly. Age twelve-and-a-half was about the time Rose had started pushing her parents away, too. Hermione was happy he’d agreed to sit with them at all. Hugo gave his dad, Ginny, and Harry fist bumps as he scooted past them, and he dragged his cousin Lily away with him to rejoin their classmates, his robes slightly askew and tie haphazardly knotted. 

“Think he’ll try out for the team next year?” Ginny asked Ron.

“I think so. But probably not for Chaser; I don’t think he wants to play the same position as his older sister.” The siblings settled into Quidditch talk, and Harry stepped around them to come sit next to Hermione. 

Keeping his voice low, he told her, “My lead investigator and I met with all the hospital and group home directors Wednesday. I’ve heard back from most of them at this point. The same set of potions appear to have been replaced with modified versions at each facility. As Malfoy surmised, the modified ones seem to have essentially the same ingredients as the originals, but different potency — at least, as far as we can tell prior to lab analysis.” 

“What are they?” Hermione asked. 

“Pain Potion, Energizing Elixir, Dozing Draught, and Replenishing Remedy.” He glanced at his son whizzing by, following one of the Slytherin Chasers. 

Hermione frowned. “Most of those are just general potions, like taking a Paracetamol or Sominex.”

Harry nodded. “Right. Since they aren’t specific to an illness, they’re administered to most patients regularly, regardless of their particular condition, making them perfect to experiment on a broad range of patients.” 

Hermione rubbed her temples, feeling a stress headache coming on. “So, have Mungo’s or the group homes reported any unusual illnesses or other reactions? Can they tell if experiments are really happening, or if the modified potions are affecting patients?” 

“No, not yet. The facilities said they’ll look closely at patient health records, but so far, none of the healers have noticed any patterns of unusual illnesses or reactions. My team’s gathering potion samples to analyze in the lab, and hopefully that’ll provide more information. We may end up needing Malfoy’s help, but I’d like to let our investigators have a go at it first.” Harry leaned forward to watch James score a goal, and they cheered with the rest of the Gryffindor section.

When the noise died down, Ron turned to them. “I overheard the end of your conversation. What’s this about potions and experiments?” he asked, his face concerned. 

Hermione turned to Harry, asking, “Have you told him about the potions thefts?”

Harry shook his head. “I haven’t talked with anyone else outside the DMLE about the potions or the political issues at the Ministry.” Looking at Ron, he said, “We’re investigating a neo-Death Eater group that seems to be pushing an anti-Muggle agenda at the Ministry, and possibly internationally. 

“We’re also investigating a string of potions thefts, which may be related to the Death Eater group, but we’re not sure. We think the stolen potions are being used to experiment on patients, possibly to see if the potions can make Half-bloods and Muggle-borns sicker or more susceptible to illnesses than Pure-bloods.”

Turning to Hermione, Harry noted, “The Minister returned from Romania a couple of days ago. Teddy and I aren’t at liberty to share details, but there does seem to be a coordinated Pure-blood supremacist movement across multiple countries.” 

Ron looked at Harry in shock. “Bloody hell. We fought and won a war to end this shite!” Then he frowned. “Have you involved Hermione in your cases, mate?” 

“No, I didn’t ask her to help with this. Um…” He glanced at Hermione, asking with his eyes if it was okay for him to explain Draco’s involvement. Hermione gave him a minute nod, and Harry shifted his gaze back to Ron. “We need better potions expertise than we have on staff in the DMLE, so we’ve asked Malfoy to consult for us. Hermione helped him figure out what’s going on with the stolen potions.”

Ron raised his brows in question at his ex-wife, his expression troubled.

She confirmed Harry’s statement, with a chagrined look on her face. She knew Ron would be unhappy to hear she was working on a DMLE investigation of Death Eaters, and with Malfoy, no less.

With a sigh, Ron asked, “Are you in any danger, helping out like this?”

“No, she’s not in any danger,” Harry broke in. “She knows about what’s going on because of her consultant position with the Department of International Magical Cooperation, since there’s an international component to the case. But she’s not involved.”

“I don’t know that I believe either of you, but I know I can’t stop you two.” He looked at Hermione pleadingly. “Please be safe, Hermione. Don’t put yourself in harm’s way if you don’t have to.” 

Affected by the concern of the man she’d shared her life with for two decades, she reassured him, “I’ll be safe, Ron. I’m not directly involved in Harry’s investigation, I promise. I just helped Draco figure out the pattern among the stolen potions. I won’t be anywhere near whatever they’re going to do after this.” She glanced at Harry, who confirmed her statement. “I appreciate your concern, but really, you don’t need to be worried.”

Ron looked unconvinced but begrudgingly returned his attention to the game. Hermione followed suit, her eyes returning every so often to Draco’s hair glowing brightly in the afternoon sun across the pitch. At one point, it seemed he was looking at her, too. She gave a small wave, and when he returned the gesture, a broad smile spread across her face and warmth settled in her gut. 

In the end, Draco had been right about the winner. Scorpius did indeed catch the Snitch before Gryffindor’s new Seeker, ending the game with a Slytherin victory. Hermione smiled as she imagined Draco’s bluster over his son’s performance the next time she saw him. She found his braggadocio strangely endearing now that she knew him better. 

She and Ron filed out of the stadium, looking for Rose before she made it to the team’s changing rooms. Hugo shouted out a quick goodbye as he ran back to the castle with his friends, and Hermione and Ron exchanged a humorous head shake over his disinterest in his parents now. _All babies grow up eventually_ , Hermione thought.

They found Rose near the changing room entrance and congratulated her on her goals. Ron pulled her into a one-armed hug, which she accepted while rolling her eyes. Hermione gently admonished Rose with a shake of her head. _Teenagers..._

Stepping away from Ron, Rose looked back and forth between her parents. “Was the game okay for you?” she asked quietly. “Having to still pretend that everything’s fine… ?” she trailed off. 

It tore at Hermione’s heart that Rose was still worried about their split. She and Ron looked at each other, debating silently who should answer. Hermione hung back an extra second, giving Ron the time to respond first so he didn’t perceive her as being overly controlling of the situation. 

“It was fine, sweetheart,” Ron responded, and he cast a _Muffliato_ so no one else could hear them. “Your mum and I still spend plenty of time around each other. Even though we’re not married anymore, we’re still friends, and we still spend time together with your grandparents and aunts and uncles. It was nice for us to catch up” — he looked at Hermione, who nodded in agreement — “today during your game. And we loved cheering you on together.”

_He did quite a nice job. He’s actually much more enjoyable to be around as an ex…_ “Rose, we loved being here to watch your game, and like Dad said, we’re happy to be here together.” She stepped closer to Ron, and he understood her intent; they wrapped an arm around each other’s waists, putting on a happy show for Rose and anyone else looking on.

Rose’s shoulders loosened, and a tentative yet genuine smile graced her features. “Okay. I’m glad you came today, even though we lost.” Their daughter wasn’t sure what else to say, but she stepped toward them, and they shared a hug with her, reassuring her through their touch that she didn’t need to worry about them. “I love you,” she muffled into their shoulders.

“We love you, too,” they both replied. 

Rose released them and stepped back. “Well, it stinks that we lost today, especially because Scorpius and Albus will lord this over me for the rest of term” — she rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips curled in a light smile — “but we played well. There’s always next year,” she sighed. 

“ ‘Course there is!” Ron responded. “Your Seeker will have an extra year under his belt; I bet he kicks Scorpius’s bloody little arse next year.” 

“Dad!” Rose laughed at his language, which she certainly used with her friends, but didn’t usually hear from her parents. “I gotta go; thanks again for coming. Love you both. ‘Bye!” she called. 

They waved to her as she disappeared into the building, long red hair flying behind her. They joined the other Gryffindor parents and supporters on the walk to Hogsmeade for a post-game drink at the Three Broomsticks. 

-o~0~o-

When they entered the pub, the Slytherin group was already there, loudly celebrating their team’s win in the center of the room. Hermione’s breath caught when her eyes landed on Draco. He was lowering a butterbeer from his mouth when he saw her, and he slowly licked the foam from his upper lip while he stared at her and winked. 

She ached down low at the sight, even though she had been with him this morning. They’d spent four nights together this past week, and she had loved every minute with him, not once regretting her decision to try out a real relationship. She raised her brows at him in appreciation before following Ginny over to the rest of their group. 

They levitated several tables together on one side of the pub, while their server brought rounds of butterbeers and firewhiskeys over. Hermione positioned herself so she could easily see Draco from her barstool. He eventually made his way to a different spot in his own group so they could watch each other for the rest of their time in the pub. 

After several hours, both parties started clearing out for the evening. Hermione, Ron, and the Potters were sticking around a bit longer before dinner at the Burrow, and Dennis Creevey and his husband stayed with them for a last round of drinks. Hermione excused herself to use the loo, and Draco was waiting for her in the hall when she came out. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” he murmured, pulling her to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck with a smile and greeted him with a slow kiss. “I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you this afternoon,” he drawled when they parted. 

She smiled self-consciously. “Same here.” _And if you’d like to take me in the bathroom, I wouldn’t object!_ She giggled to herself. No one had bathroom sex except the main characters in smutty fiction. And also the author of one of her old pregnancy books, who conceived baby #4 in an airplane bathroom. How could two people even fit in there? She couldn’t imagine being horny enough, ever, to attempt sex in a plane lavatory. Not even with Draco. 

“How much longer are you planning on staying?” His voice pulled her mind out of airplane bathrooms.

“A bit longer before we head to the Burrow for dinner.”

“Can I join you? The rest of my group just left.”

She hesitated, not wanting to throw their relationship in Ron’s face again, but decided he’d have to get over it. He knew they were still seeing each other; he had asked her about it during the game, before the whole Death Eater and potions discussion had come up with Harry. 

_“Are you still seeing Malfoy, or have you discovered what a massive wanker he is and decided he’s not worth your time?” Ron had asked the question in good humor, despite the underlying truth of his feelings about Malfoy._

_“Still seeing him,” she replied. “And he’s really not such a wanker when you get to know him, Ron.”_

_“Well, for your sake, I hope you’re right. You’re all moony-eyed over him,” Ron had observed, scowling just the tiniest bit but trying to be neutral. “Have you said anything to the kids?”_

_She had looked at him, startled, brows furrowing. “What? No! I don’t want to talk to the kids about either of us seeing anyone else, unless you and I have talked about it together first.”_

_A look of relief had crossed his face, and he’d wrapped his arm around her shoulder and given her a squeeze in thanks._

_She hesitated, then said, “Things have gotten more serious with Draco though, so I guess we probably should discuss what makes sense to tell them and when — though not here at the game. ”_

_Ron had nodded, shaking his a bit that Malfoy was her chosen love interest, but otherwise seemingly unruffled by her dating someone._

Hermione figured she might as well test whether Ron’s amicability could stand Draco’s physical presence. “Sure,” she replied, lacing her fingers through his for a moment before pulling away. In a month, Rose and Hugo would be home from Hogwarts for the summer, meaning she and Ron could publicly announce their divorce, and she and Draco could openly date. She was tired of hiding things.

Draco followed her back to her table and sidled up between her and Ginny. Nodding at the group, he said, “Weasley, Potter, Potter” in greeting.

Ron’s jaw tightened, and he glanced at Hermione with irritation flashing in his eyes, but he nodded and said, “Malfoy,” before returning to his conversation with Harry.

Draco held his hand out to Dennis and his husband for an introduction. “Draco Malfoy.”

They each shook his hand. “Dennis Creevey,” and “Jason Fitzpatrick, good to meet you.” Hermione saw Draco’s face fall slightly when Dennis introduced himself. She assumed Draco knew that Dennis’s brother Colin had died during the Battle of Hogwarts, and that Draco was debating whether he should acknowledge it and apologize for his role in the war, or whether that would bring the entire table’s conversation to a screeching halt. 

“You were both in Gryffindor?” Draco asked them. _I guess he’s decided to feel them out before deciding whether to apologize._

They nodded yes, and Dennis said, “We were three years below you. We have a daughter in second year; she’s a backup Seeker.” He glanced at his husband and they shared an amused smile. Dennis continued, “We hear about your son constantly; Anna thinks he’s the best Seeker at Hogwarts, and she studies his plays during every game.”

Hermione saw the relief that passed briefly across Draco’s features — Dennis didn’t hold Draco’s past against him — before he composed himself and chuckled. “I’m glad she’s learning from him. I won’t let Scorpius know though; it’ll go to his head, and he doesn’t need a bigger one than he already has.” 

Hermione hated that Draco often kept his true self hidden due to fear of being judged for his unsavory past. She knew that in a different situation, where he was more comfortable with the company, he’d have made some snarky remark about being the one to teach Scorpius everything he knew.

Jason laughed, then asked, “How’s your vaccine progress going?” When Draco looked at him in surprise, he explained, “We own Muggle stock in PotionLab. Dennis is Muggle-born, and we’re heavily invested in the Muggle stock market. I’m a financial advisor, and when he introduced me to the Muggle stock market, well… I’ve been trying to create something similar in wizarding society, but I haven’t been successful so far.”

Draco quickly settled into an enthusiastic business and financial conversation with Dennis and Jason, and Hermione turned back to Ron, Harry, and Ginny, who were attempting to hide their incredulity at Malfoy hitting it off with the couple. Hermione smirked at them — _there’s more to Malfoy than you think, my friends_ — and Ginny hissed under her breath, “You’re even starting to smirk like Malfoy, stop it!” At that Hermione smirked further, and Ginny rolled her eyes. 

After another half hour of conversation, Dennis and Jason left for dinner reservations, and shortly after, Hermione walked out with Draco, Ron, and the Potters. 

As her friends apparated to the Burrow, Draco grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her back a bit. It was still fairly early, only six o’clock, and the street was mostly empty. Draco’s eyes were heated, and Hermione stepped toward him, a longing low in her belly at his nearness. She wanted to go home with him rather than to the Burrow for dinner — to be consumed by him tonight yet again. They pressed together and embraced with a kiss that would tide them over until tomorrow.

She pulled back after several seconds, breathless. “I wish you could come to the Burrow with us. I don’t want to leave you.” 

He held her close, his hands on her lower back and hers on his bum. He bent down and nuzzled his nose into her neck, speaking low. “I’ll be happy to join you at the Burrow in a few months, love, if they’ll have me... as soon as your divorce is public and we can be open about us. And preferably once your ex is dating someone else, too...” 

She shivered at the feel of his breath humming against her ear and pulled him back into a last kiss, squeezing his arse. God, she was captivated by this man. She really wanted to spend every waking moment with him right now. “I’ll miss you until tomorrow,” she murmured to his lips. 

“I’ll miss you, too, love. You’d better go, or they’ll start worrying about you.” 

With one last kiss, they parted, Draco apparating home and Hermione to the Burrow, heart full of the snarky blonde wizard who’d worked his way under her skin.

* * *

Hermione woke the next morning to Ginny’s voice calling to her from downstairs. 

“Hermione! Hermione?” Ginny’s voice grew louder as she came up the stairs. “Hermione, are you awake?”

“I am now,” she grumbled. 

Ginny appeared in the doorway. “Hey, sleepyhead. Sorry to barge in on you, but it’s important. Get up and meet me downstairs; I’ll whip together some breakfast while you dress. You’re going to need the fortification.”

“What’s going on?” Hermione frowned in confusion. “Is Harry okay?”

‘Yes, yes; everyone’s fine, no one’s hurt. Get dressed and come eat,” she said tersely, disappearing back down the stairs before Hermione could ask any more questions. Maybe Ginny was here because Harry had some bad news from his investigations? 

She met Ginny in the kitchen ten minutes later. “Thanks for making breakfast, Gin. This looks delicious.” Digging into her muffin and egg, she asked, “Did Harry find something really bad in his potions investigation?”

“What?” It took Ginny a moment to understand Hermione’s question, then she waved her off. “No, no, this has nothing to do with Harry’s work.” She pushed the morning paper across the countertop to Hermione. “I’m sorry to be the one to ruin your morning, but you need to take a look at the paper.”

Hermione frowned at the _Sunday Prophet_ in front of her. One of the front page headlines was about the progress of the formation of the Wizarding European Union, which Hermione had been working on for the past two years. She’d been interviewed for the article, and her stomach dropped. “Did they misquote me or attribute something terrible to me?”

“No, no, it’s not the front page article, that was fine. Open to the Society pages.” Ginny flapped her hand impatiently at the newspaper.

Hermione flipped quickly to the back of the paper while she ate, stopping briefly at the Sports section and exclaiming in delight over a photo of Rose scoring a goal yesterday. “Did you see this?” she asked Ginny, watching the looping movements of the Quaffle leaving her daughter’s hand and soaring through the goal hoop. “Oh, this is lovely!”

Ginny smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

Hermione finally reached the front page of the Society section. It took a moment to realize what she was seeing, before her face paled, and she looked wide-eyed at Ginny. 

The redhead’s lips were pursed in a grim expression.

Looking back down, she stared at looping photos of herself and Draco from outside the Three Broomsticks yesterday, under the headline “Malfoy and Golden Couple Together in Hogsmeade.” She picked up the paper, hands shaking, to skim through the brief spread.

_Draco Malfoy was seen yesterday evening at the Three Broomsticks in the company of Golden Couple Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger-Weasley, Harry and Ginny Potter, Dennis Creevey, and Jason Fitzpatrick._

A photo showed Draco sitting at the high top table between Hermione and Ginny, with Ron across the table from them. Hermione wondered who had taken the photo without any of them noticing.

_After leaving the pub, Malfoy and Granger-Weasley were spotted being intimate on High Street after the rest of their party left._

Three large, colorful photos looped continuously. One showed them gazing at each other intensely, lips moving in conversation, with their arms wrapped around each other’s waists. Another showed them pressed close together, Draco’s face in her neck and her hands on his bum. The last picture showed them passionately kissing, and the moving photo showed her hands squeezing and gripping his arse while he pushed his hips against her. She felt nauseous; her children were going to see this!

_Has the Golden Couple split? Have they welcomed Mr. Malfoy as a third partner to spice things up? Or is the Golden Girl cheating on Mr. Weasley under his nose? Sources close to the witch and two wizards could not be reached for comment. Whatever the arrangement, things are clearly getting hot and heavy between at least two of the three parties._

The rest of the article was nothing but a bunch of background details on the three of them, which everyone already knew. Hermione lowered the paper to the counter. Her immediate thought was of Rose and Hugo finding out about her and Draco’s relationship at breakfast this morning in front of all their friends.

“Ginny,” she moaned, tears forming in her eyes, “my kids are going to see this! I have to get in touch with Minerva and go see them to explain. Maybe I can get there before they make it to breakfast, and tell them before they see the paper… Maybe Ron and I should go together, so we show a united front…”

Ginny came and put her arm around Hermione’s shoulders.

Looking back at the paper, Hermione’s eyes fixed on the paragraph under the embarrassing photos. “Spice things _up_?” she squawked, her voice two octaves higher than normal. “How… how can they even print this kind of speculation?” she sputtered. “Cheating on Ron under his nose?” Burying her face in her hands, elbows planted on the countertop, she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths while Ginny rubbed circles on her back.

“Did Harry go visit Ron while you came here?” 

“Yeah.”

“I’m worried about Rose and Hugo more than anything else. I hope we can get there before they hear about this over breakfast in the Great Hall.” Hermione heaved a breath and wrung her hands, panic warring with anger in her eyes. “I’m going to Ron’s, and we can call Minerva from there.” She hopped down from her stool, leaving the remains of her breakfast uneaten.

Before she made it from the room, her floo sounded, and Ron and Harry came through and followed the women’s voices into the kitchen. Ron was angry, his face flushed, and he held the Prophet in his hand.

Without preamble, he hissed, “What the hell, Hermione? _This_ is what I wake up to on Sunday morning? For someone known for her intelligence, kissing Malfoy in the middle of bloody Hogsmeade was appallingly stupid. Why the fuck did you do that?” Outrage colored his words. “The whole world is going to see this, and no one even knows we’re divorced! Which we kept quiet because of the _kids_ ! So the _kids_ could get through the end of term without being gossiped about! And now you do this!?” He shook the paper in his hand. 

She wanted to yell back at him, but kept her temper for now. “I’m sorry, Ron. It was a dumb thing to do. The street was empty, and we didn’t think anyone was around.”

Ron gave her an incredulous look. “There’s _always_ someone around when you, Harry, and I are together! Add Malfoy to the mix…” He threw his hands in the air. “Do you have any idea what the kids are going to go through because of this? And they’re going to find out their mum is involved with _Draco Malfoy_ at the same time as everyone else! They’ll get pummeled with questions: _‘Did your parents split? Is your mum cheating on your dad? Is Scorp’s dad shagging both your parents like the paper says?’_ ” Ron’s face twisted in revulsion.

“Yes, Ron,” Hermione fired back. “I’m well aware of what the kids are going to go through. And it will be even worse if we don’t get to them before they find out about it from the paper.” She scowled. “Can we focus on getting in touch with Minerva?”

Ron crossed his arms over his chest, stone-faced. “And what exactly do you plan for us to tell them when we get there? Sorry kids, mummy’s fucking Scorpius’s dad and made a mistake by kissing him in front of a reporter last night?”

She gaped at him for a moment before she found her words. “Fuck you, Ron! Get out of my house!” She pointed back to the floo.

“No!” he yelled. “You don’t get to shut this down just because you’re mad. This is _your_ mistake, not mine. You made a fool out of us in the fucking _Sunday Prophet_!” He jabbed his finger into the paper again, emphasizing the last three words. 

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to stay calm and keep her tears at bay. She tried several times to speak, but couldn’t do it without crying. Turning to Harry and Ginny, who had been slowly inching out of the room, she choked out, “Can you two please leave us alone?”

The Potters looked at Ron for agreement, and when he nodded, Ginny said, “Call us if you need help with anything.” Then the Potters hightailed it to the fireplace. 

Hermione sat down on a stool at the kitchen island and leaned against the countertop, burying her face in her hands and crying silently, trying to pull herself together enough to talk to Ron. 

“We need to deal with this, Hermione.” Ron’s voice was tight, controlled, clearly trying to keep his patience so she didn’t start crying harder. “We need to get to Hogwarts and try to explain this to Rose and Hugo and do some damage control. We can figure out how to deal with the _Prophet_ later. Fucking wanker of a reporter,” he muttered. 

Deciding there was no way around crying while talking to him, she turned to face him, sniffling and wiping her wet cheeks with her sleeves. 

Ron glared at her. “I think you need to do most of the talking to the kids at the start. This was your mistake — yours and _Malfoy’s_ — and you need to be the one to explain it to them.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll do my best to act supportive so that we don’t add ‘mummy and daddy fighting’ to their list of worries.”

Hermione closed her eyes as tears continued to leak out. She wanted to yell back at him, throw his anger back in his face, but she knew he had every right to be angry. She had created a huge mess, particularly for their kids, with her indiscretion. 

“Okay,” she said in a small voice. “Let’s call McGonagall. Hopefully she can pull them from their dormitories before breakfast. Let me grab my bag.” She hopped off the stool, wiping her eyes, and her floo sounded again. 

Moments later, Draco walked into the kitchen holding his own copy of the _Prophet_ , and her stomach dropped. Draco froze when he saw Ron, and Ron’s face twisted in anger, a red flush rising up his neck once again. 

Ron took a step toward Draco, his extra couple of inches of height and angry energy rolling off his frame making Draco, uncharacteristically, flinch away from him. 

“Get the fuck out of here, Malfoy. Hermione and I are leaving for Hogwarts to try to explain this mess you two made to our kids. Go deal with your kid on your own. I will _not_ be seen walking around the school with you and fueling speculation that we’re all in bed together.” Disgust and resentment colored his features.

Draco shifted his gaze to Hermione, and she nodded her head infinitesimally, tears pooling in her eyes again. Draco’s face fell, and he rubbed the back of his neck, before turning around and leaving.

Hermione got her bag from the entrance hall and met Ron at the fireplace. Minerva didn’t answer their floo call — of course, she was unlikely to be in her office on a Sunday morning — so Ron sent a patronus to her, asking to meet. They waited in awkward silence in the living room until McGonagall’s cat arrived, directing them to be at her office entrance in 20 minutes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you, as always, to [canttouchthis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canttouchthis/pseuds/Canttouchthis) and [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) for all their help; you’re the best!
> 
> One of my main goals for the Pure-blood supremacy plot is to keep it simple enough for readers to easily follow, particularly while reading as a WIP. Not sure I’ve fully met that goal, and Harry’s short summary to Ron at the Quidditch game is really all you need to know going forward.
> 
> I know there are a broad range of opinions on Ron in the Dramione world. In this story I’ve crafted him (or have tried to) as a complex, three-dimensional side character who has matured along with the rest of the characters and is a good person, though he continues to carry around some of his old insecurities. 
> 
> I'll continue to update every other Saturday till the story is finished, around 20 chapters total, give or take.
> 
> Footnotes:  
> The pregnancy book Hermione refers to is The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy by Vicki Iovine.   
> For American readers, Paracetamol is the name Tylenol is sold under in the UK; Sominex is a non-prescription sleep aid.
> 
> Correction:  
> For any sticklers for detail, I made an error in Ch 5 when I indicated Lily was still living with her parents and not at Hogwarts. I’ve corrected Ch 5. There's disagreement on fan sites about her birth date, so she's either a first year with Hugo or a second year. (Rose and Scorpius are fourth years, and James is a sixth year.)


	11. The Reveal (Gray Print)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! Happy last Saturday of January! This chapter starts off with a scene from Rose and Scorpius's point of view, before going back to our regular narration from our two love birds' points of view. (Also, sticking with the American English spellings in this story, I'm using "gray" rather than "grey" intentionally, because it's the more common American spelling.)
> 
> As always, thank you to [canttouchthis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canttouchthis/pseuds/Canttouchthis) and [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) for their help with this chapter -- you two are wonderful!

**🌹🦂-** o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- **🌹🦂**

**Rose and Scorpius**

Rose and her friend Laxmi entered the foyer by the Great Hall, giggling over a secret joke, just as Albus and Scorpius walked into the hallway from the opposite direction. Rose and Albus elbowed each other—their standard "cousin greeting" since they were ten years old—while they made their way to the doors of the Great Hall for Sunday morning breakfast.

Rose turned to Scorpius. "Nice match yesterday."

"Thanks! I told you your Seeker wouldn't be able to beat me!" he smirked. Rose rolled her eyes, and he offered, "But you scored some good goals yesterday—at least, the ones I saw."

"Bet your arse I did! Glad you can admit it," she smirked back.

The four friends stepped through the doors of the Great Hall, and the room went silent. Nearly every eye in the hall stared at them, immediately followed by whispers rising in volume.

Rose frowned. Maybe they were surprised to see Gryffindors and Slytherins walking in together after the Quidditch game yesterday? But everyone knew she and Albus were cousins and that their mates were friends with each other. She and Albus looked at each other in confusion before making their way to their house tables.

When she and Laxmi clambered onto the bench, her friends looked at her oddly, seeming embarrassed to say hello. She glanced around and realized the entire table was watching her. What was going on? James caught her eye, then stood and made his way over from the sixth years' group, squeezing onto the bench next to her.

He grimaced and rubbed his neck. "Hi, Rose. Um, you probably want to see this and maybe go ahead and explain to people what's happening." He pulled a copy of the _Sunday Prophet_ over to them, and he turned to one of the pages inside. "I've kept my mouth shut; I figure it's up to you and Hugo what you want to say to people. The reporter clearly doesn't know that your… well, you know… " he trailed off.

Rose didn't know, but she looked down at the newspaper James had opened. There was a photo of Scorpius's dad at a table with her parents and her aunt and uncle, and then others of her mum snogging and holding on to Scorpius's dad. She did a double take, and her eyes widened. She looked up at James in shock.

His lips twisted into a half-smile and half-grimace, and Rose looked back down at the article. _Draco Malfoy seen with Golden Couple… intimate on High Street… Golden Couple split? ...cheating… hot and heavy… third partner to spice things up?_ "What?!" she exclaimed.

She looked at James again, unable to speak, and then back down at the photos. Her mum was squeezing Mr. Malfoy's arse in one of them, and they were intensely snogging in another. She looked around the table, and every one of her friends was staring at her—mostly in sympathy, though there were a few sniggers from some of the boys.

Glancing again at the embarrassing photos, she turned around to see what was happening at Scorpius's table. It was much the same scene. Scorpius's pale skin was flushed red and, as if sensing her gaze, he looked up and locked eyes with her. They stared at each other wide-eyed and in shock, and tears started to well in Rose's eyes. _Scorpius didn't know either._

Appetite gone, she whispered, "Thank you, James," then fled the hall. She stopped at the bottom of the main stairs, unsure where to go or what to do, beginning to breathe shallow panicked breaths, and Scorpius came up, moments behind her.

She was embarrassed to look at him after seeing their parents like that in the paper. "You—you didn't know either?" she asked quietly.

Scorpius shook his head. "No. Dad never said anything." She saw the hurt in his eyes. "Do you—argh, I don't want to even ask." He took a breath and rushed out, "Are they cheating on your dad?"

Rose took a step back. "What? No! No. My parents got divorced in February."

Now Scorpius looked confused. "Really? How come Al didn't tell me?"

"We were keeping it quiet," Rose breathed. "I didn't want to deal with all the reporters and articles and people asking me questions all the time. They were going to make it public when Hugo and I got home from school at the end of the month. But this is even worse! Now everyone thinks Mum is cheating with your dad!" she wailed quietly.

"Or that my dad's shagging both your parents," Scorpius scowled, face flushing red again. He looked around. "Let's get out of here before someone else comes out of the hall."

They walked aimlessly down a corridor, not speaking, and eventually made their way into an alcove in the courtyard, sitting down on a bench. They were mostly hidden from view, and no one was outdoors yet anyway.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes, Rose barked, "I hate her! I can't believe she would do this to me!"

"Yeah, well, my dad's just as bad. This is the third time I've found out through the newspaper that he's been dating someone since Mum died," he groused. "He knows reporters follow him around everywhere." He picked at his robes and scuffed his shoe bottoms against the stones below their feet.

"I hate having famous parents!" Rose shifted in her seat. "Why can't they just be normal people, like Laxmi's parents, or Maria's?"

"Yeah, well, at least your parents are famous for doing good things."

Rose felt even worse, hearing him say that so matter-of-factly. She knew the burden of the past was harder for him than for her. Everyone thought her parents were heroes, but Scorpius still got bullied sometimes for his dad being a former Death Eater.

"What did your friends say about the paper?" she asked hesitantly.

With a dry laugh, he said, "They joked about my dad getting tail and said gross stuff about our parents shagging. When I saw you leave, I left, too. What did your friends say?"

"Nothing. James came over to show me why everyone was staring, and I left before anyone could say anything." Tears started to slide from her eyes, and she sniffled, wiping away the wet.

Scorpius shifted, looking at the stone pavers beneath his feet, clearly uncomfortable at Rose's crying.

"I want to go hide for the rest of the term," she breathed. "Do you think Professor McGonagall would let us go home for a few days?"

"It's not _that_ bad, Rose. Your friends will be nice once you explain it to them. Everyone else can shove off." He turned to her. "I have a lot of experience ignoring people being mean here. Remember, Dad? Death Eater? Just pretend it doesn't get to you; don't give them anything to feed off of."

She wanted to tell him that was stupid advice, but she supposed he'd had a lot to overcome with his dad's past. She'd never thought about it that much; once he became Al's best friend, she'd just accepted him. But he had plenty of friends and was mostly liked around school.

"Do you want to go fly?" he asked. "No one will know we're out there; you can stay away from everyone, and we don't have to think about the stupid _Prophet._ "

With a last sniffle, she nodded, and they set off for the Quidditch pitch.

 **🌹🦂-** o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- **🌹🦂**

* * *

Hermione and Ron waited in tense silence outside Professor McGonagall's office. Ron paced, agitated, drawing the attention of the gargoyles guarding the door. Their stone eyes shifted back and forth, tracking his movements. Finally, the clack of Minerva's shoes echoed down the hall.

"Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger." She nodded at each of them in turn. "Despite the rather unfortunate circumstances, it's good to see you. I've arranged for you to meet with your children in Professor Longbottom's office. Mr. Malfoy has also contacted me, and he will be meeting with the young Mr. Malfoy down the hall in Professor Binns' office."

Ron fought to keep a snarl off his face at the mention of Malfoy, and he ended up looking slightly constipated. Hermione fought back a giggle, which was wholly inappropriate to the situation; perhaps she was slightly hysterical, and this was her brain's way of avoiding the very real possibility that her entire family might hate her after this morning.

Minerva clipped out, "I haven't found your children yet, but the eldest Mr. Potter said your daughter and the young Mr. Malfoy left the Great Hall at the same time; I assume they are together."

Hermione started panicking: the kids had already been to breakfast. They had found out about the photos with all of the other students. She couldn't imagine how angry and upset they probably felt at being blindsided by this.

The headmistress ushered them down winding hallways to Neville's office. "It may take some time to track the children down; I'll send them as soon as I can."

Hermione sat, while Ron continued pacing.

Eventually, Hugo arrived, a puzzled look on his face. "Hi Mum, Dad. What are you doing here?"

Hermione puffed out a nervous breath. "Hi, sweetie. Have you been to breakfast yet?"

He looked at her in confusion. "Yeah?"

Given his level of bemusement, she assumed he and his friends didn't know what had happened. "Did you read the paper this morning?"

"No?" He sounded unsure if this was the correct answer. "What's going on?"

"Well, there was an article in the paper this morning that we didn't expect…"

She explained the basics of the article, and when she was nearly finished, they heard a pair of voices outside the door—Rose and, presumably, Scorpius. Hermione's stomach turned at the thought of facing her daughter. She finished explaining the article to Hugo as Rose entered the room, where she remained by the door.

Trying to quell her rising nausea, Hermione breathed out, "Hi, sweetheart. It's good to see you again." Rose just glared at her. Trying to keep her voice from shaking, Hermione asked, "Can you come sit down with us? I just finished explaining what was in the paper this morning, which I assume you've already seen?"

Rose bit out a sharp "Yes" while she walked over.

Hugo asked, "So, Scorpius's dad is your boyfriend now?"

Hermione swallowed and responded, "Yes, darling." Saying it out loud made her chest tighten; she wasn't ready for labels. "He moved in across the street, which is how we reconnected."

Rose and Hugo both looked at her in surprise. Rose's frown lifted a tiny bit, and she asked, "So, Scorpius will be living by us this summer?"

Hermione nodded, and her voice softened as she gazed at her daughter, now seated and intently studying the floor. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry those photos ended up in the paper. We obviously weren't expecting it, and we're upset about it, too. I've been dating Scorpius's dad for a few weeks. We haven't said anything to anyone because it's still so new."

Rose nodded just enough to let them know she heard her mum, but she kept her eyes focused on the slate tiles at her feet.

Hermione wasn't sure what else to say. When Rose didn't feel like talking, it was impossible to draw anything out of her, and asking questions or trying to cajole her into a conversation would just make her angry. Sighing inside, she tried a different tack.

"Dad and I are going to talk to the newspaper this afternoon, to correct the article and ask for an apology. But"—Hermione winced, anticipating her daughter's reaction—"we'll need to announce the divorce publicly.

To Hermione's surprise, Rose didn't fly off the handle. Instead, she continued to stare at the floor and said darkly, "That's better than people thinking you and Mr. Malfoy are cheating on Dad." She glanced quickly up at Ron, then back down to the floor again.

Hugo asked, "Can I tell more of my housemates about your divorce now, or do I have to wait 'til it's in the paper?"

"You can tell whomever you want now, darling," Hermione responded. "But hopefully the correction will be in the paper tomorrow morning."

Ron asked, "Has anyone said anything to you or Scorpius, Rosie?"

The young redhead looked up and rolled her eyes in derision. "Everyone knows, Dad. Laxmi and I walked into the Great Hall with Al and Scorpius this morning, and everybody got quiet and looked at us weird." She glared at her mum, then shifted her gaze back to her dad.

"James told me what was going on and showed me those awful photos"—another glare at Hermione—"and then I left the hall. Everyone was staring and snickering." Her last sentence ended in an accusatory tone, before she shut her mouth and stared back down at her feet, arms crossed over her chest again.

She mumbled quietly, "Scorpius said his friends said crude stuff about you and his dad shagging." A red flush crept up her neck and face, while Hugo gaped at his sister.

Looking up at Ron, Rose asked, "Can I come home with you for a few days? I'll bring my school work with me. I can floo call Laxmi each night to get my assignments. Please?" she implored, sounding desperate.

Ron began shaking his head, and Rose spoke louder. "You can't make me stay here right now! Everyone's going to be mean, and ask questions, and make gross jokes about Mum and Mr. Malfoy." She turned to her mum, barking, "How could you do this to me?"

Ron stepped toward her. "Sweetheart, your friends will stick by your side regardless of what's going on with your parents. And as for snickering, silly boys, the less you respond to them, the less they'll bother talking about it. I should know; I was one of those silly boys when I was your age." He glanced at Hermione, remembering what an arse he'd been to her during much of their school years.

Rose mumbled, "That's kind of what Scorpius said."

Surprised that Scorpius had given her daughter some comfort and good advice, Hermione considered how to respond, when Hugo broke in. "Can I go now? My mates are waiting for me so we can go down the lake."

Hermione gave a wry chuckle, and she and Ron both gave him a hug before he scampered out the door.

Their daughter rose from her chair. "I'm going now, too. Scorpius and I are going back to fly on the pitch, to stay away from everyone." She gave Hermione another glare.

Hermione held in her frustration. This hadn't gone well, but she didn't know what else to say. She knew Rose would reject any comfort she tried to give her. "Darling, just a moment. I know you're mad and upset, and I'm sorry this happened. I really didn't mean it to. I love you, and Dad and I are both here for you, okay?"

Rose shrugged her shoulders, mumbling, "Mm-hmm. 'Bye." She quickly scooted out the door and Hermione heard two pairs of steps shuffling back down the hall.

She refused to look at Ron, not willing to see the condemnation in his eyes. At least Hugo didn't seem too bothered by the whole mess. She took several deep breaths and got up, ready to leave. There was nothing else they could do at this point. "I suppose we should go."

Ron muttered, "I suppose we should."

* * *

While Hermione and Ron were talking with their children, Draco was having much the same experience several doors down. After waiting alone, for what felt like an interminable amount of time, Draco finally heard a pair of voices down the hall belonging to his son and, presumably, Rose.

Moments later, Scorpius entered the room, hurt etched all over his face. Draco's heart cracked. He puffed a breath past his lips. "Hi Scorp. I'm sorry to be here under these circumstances. Thanks for coming to meet with me." They both sat, and Scorpius simply looked at him, waiting for him to speak.

Draco explained why he hadn't told Scorpius he was seeing Rose's mum—that Rose's family didn't want anyone to know about their divorce until after the school year finished.

Scorpius looked even more upset at this explanation. "But you could have told _me_ , Dad. You know I wouldn't have told anyone about Rose's parents." Staring at his lap, he said quietly, "This is the third time since Mum died that I've found out from the papers that you're dating someone."

Draco's heart cracked even further. "I'm so sorry, Scorp. I didn't mean for any of those to happen. The first two were just dates that didn't mean anything; I didn't think they were worth saying anything about. But I guess you're right: I should have told you anyway. I just never thought they'd make it into the paper."

His son looked up at him, his eyes resigned. "You always make the paper, Dad. Just like Al and Rose's parents. At least the other articles didn't show you snogging each other. My friends said porny stuff about you and Rose's mum shagging after they saw the photos. I'm sure they'll keep it up for a while." Scorpius rolled his eyes. "I don't let their shite bother me, but it's gross hearing that about your dad."

Draco was proud that his son didn't let his friends bother him, but he was ashamed he'd been photographed in such a compromising position. "Scorp, Rose's mum and I have been on a few dates over the past month, but it wasn't until this past week that we started seeing each other more. It didn't feel serious enough to tell you, but I guess I should have said something yesterday after the game."

"Did you sit together at the game?"

"No. No one else knows Rose's parents are divorced yet. Or, they didn't yesterday, anyway. I guess everyone will know soon. We're going to have to get the paper to print a correction and an apology."

Scorpius didn't respond.

"Would you prefer I let you know any time I ask someone on a date?" Draco couldn't imagine calling or owling his son every time he went on a date with someone new; though he honestly hoped he wouldn't be going on a date with someone new for a very long time. _Or ever,_ a quiet voice spoke in the back of his mind.

"I don't know." Scorpius fidgeted with his hands. "So, are you going on a few more dates with Rose's mum, and then you'll be done, like the others? I don't want Rose mad at me because you and her mum break up."

Draco wondered how much he should reveal to his son about his feelings for Hermione. He settled for part of the truth. "No, Scorp. I hope to date Rose's mum for a long time. I like her quite a lot, and we've been seeing each other off and on since I moved into our new house—she lives across the street."

Scorpius's gaze flashed quickly to his dad's, surprised. "Why didn't you at least tell me Rose's family were our neighbors?"

Draco rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I thought you might know where they lived, and like I said, they were trying to keep their divorce private."

Scorp rolled his eyes, but just shook his head in response. "Well, at least Rose and Hugo can come over and fly in the Quidditch shed this summer. And we can invite Albus, too."

"That sounds like a great idea."

Scorpius was silent for a moment, then his pale blue eyes—a mixture of the Malfoy gray and Greengrass blue—bored into Draco's. "I think Mum would have liked the new house, especially the Quidditch shed."

Draco stood, pulling his son out of his chair and into a hug. "I'm sure she would've, kiddo. I know she would have enjoyed watching you fly yesterday, too—seeing how much your skills have grown since you joined the team second year."

Scorpius returned his hug, silent and strong, and they stood there for a moment, an incomplete family of two still trying to fill in the holes left by Astoria's absence.

They parted, reconciled, and Draco heard Scorpius's steps mingling with Rose's on their way back out to the Quidditch pitch. He was glad Potter's kid had forged a friendship among them, and he was happy Scorp and Rose could get away from other students for the afternoon and just enjoy flying.

Another pair of steps sounded in the hallway moments later, presumably belonging to Hermione and Weasley, though neither spoke. Draco wanted to talk to Hermione, but he had no desire to run into Ron again and certainly no desire for a long and awkward walk out of Hogwarts together. Once their steps faded into silence, he made his way out of Professor Binns' office, feeling both guilty and relieved after talking with his son.

* * *

That afternoon, Draco found himself sitting in front of the lead _Prophet_ editor's desk next to Hermione and Weasley. The nameplate on his desk read Edward Scrivener—fitting for a newspaper editor, Draco mused. The shifty man settled behind his desk, folding his long and lanky limbs into his chair, and Draco noted his nervous eyes darting among the three of them and the slight grimace he was trying to hide at the corners of his mouth.

Folding his hands across his work top, Mr. Scrivener asked, "Right, yes, what can I do for you three?"

"I think you know why we're here," Weasley said, fixing him with a glare. "We'd like a retraction printed, a correction issued, and a public apology made for ungrounded speculation. No attempt was made to reach us before publishing those photos or the speculation surrounding them. The statement that people close to us couldn't be reached is a flat out lie; we know your wanker of a reporter didn't reach out to anyone."

The man bobbled around nervously in his seat, flexing his long fingers and not quite meeting any of their eyes. "We're under no requirement to request permission from photo subjects, if they're photographed in public."

Draco leaned forward and scowled. "This article contains baseless speculation, which my attorney could construe as _libel_ if you do not correct it. I've received unexpected visits and a number of highly unpleasant howlers already. We expect you to do as Mr. Weasley has requested."

The man didn't need to know the unexpected visits had been from family members. His mother had been waiting in his living room when he'd returned from Hogwarts. She was upset he'd been seeing Hermione Granger without telling her, confused about what was going on, and embarrassed for their family, particularly after Helena Greengrass had shown up at Malfoy Manor, _Prophet_ in hand. He and his mother had parted on good terms, but shortly after she'd left, Andromeda had appeared. Yet another round of explanations had been required, and Draco was out of patience at this point.

Shifting in his seat, the jittery wizard asserted, "The photos have been published, and they're real, so I don't understand what you think could be retracted."

"We'd like you to retract the speculation that anyone is cheating on anybody," Draco snapped, irritated with the man's sniveling and conniving behavior. "And we'd like you to retract the assertion that I may be romantically involved with both Mr. _and_ Mrs. Granger-Weasley—which I can assure you, I am not." He shuddered at the thought of doing _anything_ of that nature with Ron Weasley, and he caught the redhead emanating much the same sentiment on the other side of Hermione.

The equivocating editor looked among the three of them, apparently debating what to say next.

When no statement was immediately forthcoming, Hermione spoke up. In a cold tone, she directed, "Your correction should state that Mr. Weasley and I have been divorced for several months now, and that Mr. Malfoy and I have begun dating recently."

Scrivener's eyes popped wide and a salacious look crept across his face; he was clearly excited about breaking such momentous news.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the man. "That's all: one sentence stating we are divorced, and I'm dating Mr. Malfoy. No other speculation, photos, or details."

The man's face fell. "Yes, well—" he began to protest.

Ron spoke over him. "You heard my ex-wife. We also would like the retraction, corrected information, _and_ _apology,"_ he emphasized, "to be posted prominently on the front page of the society section _tomorrow_. Understood?"

For once, Draco and Weasley agreed on something. The three of them stared at Mr. Scrivener, waiting for his response.

"Okay," he finally said, his lips twisting like he'd eaten something sour.

"Okay, what?" Hermione asked.

The editor looked resigned. "We'll print a retraction tomorrow of the speculation that you and Mr. Malfoy are cheating on Mr. Weasley and a retraction of the speculation that Mr. Malfoy has joined you and Mr. Weasley in… ah, romantic inclinations." He cleared his throat. "We'll issue a correction, stating that you and Mr. Weasley are divorced, and that you and Mr. Malfoy have begun dating recently."

They all nodded, waiting for more. The editor glared at them each in turn, ending with Draco, whom he seemed most afraid of. He cleared his throat. "We'll issue an apology for speculating about your activities without confirming the information first."

Draco stood. "Thank you, Scrivener. Should the paper tomorrow _not_ contain the information we're expecting, both you and your reporter who wrote this may find yourselves looking for work elsewhere."

The man gulped and nodded, aware that Draco's business connections were fully capable of carrying through on his threat. At that, all three of them exited the room, ready to be free of this ridiculous farce.

"Can we discuss this at some point today?" Draco asked Hermione once they were outside. He nodded at Weasley, adding, "If you think the three of us should speak together, I'm amenable to that, too."

Weasley briefly glanced at Hermione, then at Draco, stone faced. "I'm fine. Hermione can relay anything I need to know." He nodded to his ex-wife, then apparated away, leaving Hermione and Draco alone on the sidewalk outside the Prophet offices.

Draco was unsure what to say to her, uncertain whether she was angry with him or not. He simply asked, "How are you?"

She hesitated a moment, then leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and speaking into his chest. Her actions sent him into such great relief that he almost didn't hear what she said next. "Not great, honestly. Hugo was fine; he didn't seem too bothered by it. Rose, though… she was so angry and upset, she would barely look at or talk to me.

"She wanted to leave school and stay with Ron for a few days because she's so afraid of being made fun of." Hermione glanced up at Draco. "Because of what the article said and the graphic photos. Not because of you or Scorpius."

"I'm sorry, love." He squeezed his arms around her, grateful she was embracing him and not pushing him away. Today felt like it had lasted a week. He murmured into her hair, "Let's head home?"

She gave him a short, soft kiss in assent, and they left Diagon Alley for the calm of Muggle London.

* * *

That night, after a few games of tennis in Cambridge Gardens next to the Thames to work off their nervous energy, and a hearty Mickey-cooked dinner, Hermione flopped down on the leather sofa in Draco's study, completely exhausted. Draco settled next to her, and they sat in silence for several minutes, lost in thought about the day. Hermione sighed and turned to Draco. "I think I'm going home now. I'm really tired, and tomorrow is likely to be, ah… draining, with all this news going public."

Before Draco could respond, they heard Scorpius's voice calling from the floo in the living room. Draco breathed, "Will you hang on a moment 'til I'm done talking with Scorp?"

Hermione nodded and then, knackered, lay down on the sofa while he left the room.

When Draco joined her back in the study, he was dressed in a red clown wig and wore his Hogwarts Quidditch jersey. She sat up. "Draco, what are you doing? Why are you wearing that?"

He didn't answer her, nor even look at her. He made his way to his desk and opened the top drawer, pulling out a framed photo of Astoria, which he placed in the center of his desk.

"Draco?"

He ignored her, looking at the photo of Astoria, and he started singing a Pure-blood wedding hymn.

Hermione got up and walked over to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Draco, what are you doing?"

He turned to her, and his entire face had turned into a clown face, with white paint, large red lips, a red ball-like nose, and black circles around his eyes. Strangely, his gray eyes had turned red, matching his wig and nose.

She jumped back in surprise and horror, and he grinned at her and squeezed his clown nose, making it honk like a car horn while he laughed. She shrunk away from him, confused. Clowns weren't part of wizard culture.

Abruptly, he changed his appearance from clown to Hogwarts student, his Quidditch jersey replaced by his school robes, and his face suddenly younger; it was an impressive but disconcerting bit of magic. "Granger, I need to leave. Scorpius and Astoria need me. I'm moving back into the Manor for a few weeks. Would you check in here every few days and make sure no one has broken in and stolen anything?"

She looked at him in confusion—why couldn't he just put up wards?—but nodded yes.

"Thanks, Granger. Astoria and I really appreciate your help." He gave her a brief smile, then left the room, his Hogwarts robes changing back into the Muggle clothes he had been wearing earlier. She lay back down on the sofa, and she heard the floo sound as he disappeared; she wondered what Scorpius had said to instigate this.

Before she had a chance to analyze it, she heard the floo again. Thinking Draco was coming back for something he'd forgotten, Hermione tried to stand up to greet him. But her legs felt heavy, and she couldn't move. She heard his steps on the hardwood floor, walking over to her; but when she looked up, it was Ron, not Draco.

"Ron? What are you doing here? How did you get Draco's address?" His hair was longer, the way he wore it when they were younger. How had he grown it out so quickly?

Ron smiled at her and leaned down to run his fingers through her curls. "I have a trace on you, love," he said. "I can floo or apparate to wherever you are."

She made to pull away from him, but his smile was disarming, and she started to wonder why they'd ever split. But how had he placed a trace on her without her knowledge? She was better at most kinds of magic than him; surely she would have felt it if he placed a trace on her.

Reading her confusion, Ron said, "Harry helped me with it, love. Can you come home now? I moved your things back into our bedroom." His eyes softened as he looked at her. "I've missed you, sweetheart." He held his hand out to her.

Confused, she accepted his hand and let him pull her up, following him to the floo.

"You first." He stepped back and gestured for her to step into the fireplace. She was hesitant, but she felt a pull toward home. Sensing her hesitancy, Ron stepped closer and took her hand. "Rose and Hugo are there waiting for you, sweetheart. Rose just started reading and wants to show off how well she can read Babbity Rabbity."

Rose had learned to read? She had missed Rose learning to read? Why had she ever left home? She was missing major milestones in her children's lives, all because of her selfishness. Ron was there for them, but she wasn't. She had to go home. She had to see them. The feel of Ron's fingers entwined with hers was so familiar, so comforting. She squeezed his hand and replied, "Okay."

Ron's face lit up in a smile; she felt grateful to be able to make him and her children happy. He bent down to give her a kiss, and she leaned in to his familiar comfort. As she moved to step through the floo, she heard Draco's voice from the other room.

"Hermione? Hermione?"

She paused. She was drawn to his voice, but the need to see her children and not disappoint Ron felt more important. She had already missed Rose learning to read. She couldn't miss any more milestones. If she didn't go back, she might miss the kids learning to fly. Ron was so excited to teach them when they were old enough. She took another step toward the floo, and Draco's voice became more persistent, closer.

"Hermione!" She felt him shaking her shoulders. Why wasn't Ron doing anything to stop him? She looked around. Where was Ron? Where had he gone? She needed to get to the floo. She tried to tell Draco to leave her alone, that she needed to see her children, but no words came out.

"Hermione!" Draco's voice was insistent, his touch on her shoulders more firm. She turned to look at him, opening her eyes, and realized she was still lying on the sofa in his study, and not standing at his floo. Her eyes met his, confused and dazed, and she felt his hand run through her hair, just like Ron had done minutes earlier.

She sat up quickly, looking around for Ron, and realized she'd fallen asleep.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked.

She bent her head down into her hands, elbows resting on her knees, trying to recover her reality. She took a few deep breaths, and by the time she looked up at him again, all she could remember of her dream was an uneasy sense of missing something related to her children.

"Um, I just fell asleep. I had a weird dream, but I can't really remember it anymore," she admitted. Remembering why he had left the room, she asked, "What did Scorpius have to say?"

Draco sat down. "He was just checking in. He said he nicked food from the kitchens with Rose and Albus for lunch and dinner so they didn't have to eat with anyone else. He was relieved when I told him the paper's printing a correction tomorrow."

"Did he say anything about how Rose is doing?"

Draco shook his head. "Not really. I asked, and he just said she's okay. I wasn't going to pry."

Hermione rubbed her temples and gave him a tired smile. "I really need to go to bed, babe; I'm worn out."

Draco stood and held out a hand to pull her up. "Are you sure you don't want to stay here? I can get you settled…" She shook her head, and he asked, "Can I see you home? You really don't look well."

"No, that's okay." She smiled feebly up at him. "I'm just tired and feel a bit discombobulated from my dream. I'll probably fall asleep as soon as I get in bed." She hugged him, pressing her cheek into his chest. He felt different than Ron. Less comfortable. More exciting. She was too tired to appreciate excitement right now. She wanted the comfort of her own bed.

They parted at the floo, exchanging a kiss goodnight before she stepped into the fireplace.


	12. Infiltration (Invisible Masks)

A few days after the _Prophet_ debacle, Draco leaned over Hermione's dozing form and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips in the early morning light. "I'm getting up, love, I need to leave."

She let out a little moan and reached her arms around him. "I wish you didn't have to go to Paris." She scooted against him, nuzzling her face into his chest, breathing softly against his skin.

He wished he didn't have to leave, either, but his business at PotionLab couldn't wait. "It's just a few days. I wish you could come with me." He pressed a kiss into her hair, his pulse rising at the thought of exploring Paris and the countryside around the Malfoys' Bordeaux estate with her. _Maybe soon,_ he hoped.

"Me, too." Her voice was groggy with sleep. "Then I could get away from all the attention here this week." She peered at him. "You're not a celebrity in France, are you?"

He let out a quiet laugh. "No, I'm not. Well known in the business world, yes. But people don't recognize me when I walk into a restaurant."

Hermione sighed, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw before tucking her head into the crook of his neck. "That must be nice."

It was only Wednesday morning, but the past few days had felt like two weeks. The _Prophet_ had published a correction and apology Monday morning as demanded, but that didn't erase the fact that everyone had seen the photos of him and Hermione being intimate in the middle of Hogsmeade. His staff and colleagues had given him a wide berth for the past two days. The atmosphere was awkward, but he took advantage of the quiet to get more work done before leaving for Paris.

Theo and Blaise had swooped into his office Monday at lunch and physically dragged him to the Leaky Cauldron, where they bombarded him with questions about Hermione. "Why didn't you tell us you were dating Granger?" "How did you meet up with her?" "What's she like in the sack?" (That one came from Blaise. Theo would never be so crass.) Draco gave them a basic explanation of how they'd connected as neighbors and why he'd stayed mum about it—that she and Weasley had been trying to keep their divorce quiet. He shrugged off the rest of their questions, glared at Blaise for his crudity, and left lunch with a massive headache.

Helena and Gareth Greengrass owled Monday evening, saying they were glad he had found someone who made him happy and that Ms. Granger seemed like a good fit for him. Their owl, while well-intentioned, had left a sour taste in his mouth. Hermione wasn't replacing Astoria; it hadn't even been two months since they discovered they were neighbors. He wasn't ready for his in-laws— _former_ in-laws, he corrected himself—to have any sort of involvement in his love life, even if only via opinion. It felt disrespectful of Astoria's memory that they should so quickly approve of someone new. Their owl had sent him into a downward spiral of guilt and grief over moving on after Astoria.

He had holed up at home alone that night, intent on nursing his sorrows and feeling sorry for himself. His brain seemed intent on avoiding, rather than nursing, his feelings, though. So eventually he had walked up to Angel & Crown on George Street, losing himself in sports on the Muggle telly and the quiet chatter of a 25-percent capacity pub. It was still strange to be out in Muggle London, where CoVID restrictions were in full force, while the wizarding world had no restrictions at all.

He'd swear the newspaper had announced he and Hermione were engaged, not simply dating, with the way everyone was acting. Daphne and Pansy had sent him owls similar to the Greengrasses, and his mother was insisting he introduce her to Hermione as soon as possible. He was annoyed with how big of a deal everyone was making of this.

Scorpius had floo called him each night, and his son had vacillated between irritation and calm in the same conversation. Plus, Draco had a heavy workload, trying to stay on top of daily operations and business acquisition talks in France. And now he was stuck assisting Potter with his neo-Death Eater investigation, trying to squeeze in several meetings this morning before traveling to PotionLab's headquarters. He was tired and emotionally wrung out.

Draco sat up, pushing the covers down, and brushed Hermione's curls back from her face. "I'll miss you while I'm in France," he breathed. "Maybe while I'm gone you can think about Parvati's request? I know you don't want any more publicity, but it would give us a chance to tell the story in our own words and cut down on speculation."

Hermione's week had been similar to his, with people gawking at her and reporters swarming her at the Ministry. Parvati Patil had approached her yesterday requesting an interview with her and Malfoy for a spread in Witch Weekly. Hermione had politely but firmly turned her down, but Parvati hadn't taken no for an answer and asked that they think about it. Parvati had insisted it would give them the ability to present the story from their perspective, complete with a photo shoot with stylists, if they desired.

Hermione had let out a scornful laugh while telling him this last night, but Draco had thought it sounded like a good opportunity to control the narrative. And publicizing professional photos of the two of them together had appealed highly to his desire to be seen with her now that their news was public, though he hadn't verbalized this last part to her.

He understood that she was more upset about the _Prophet's_ article than he was, because she had the larger issue of the public announcement of her divorce and associated fallout to deal with. But he had been frustrated that she couldn't see the positives of an interview with a journalist they knew and trusted, and a bit miffed that she had turned Parvati down without talking to him first.

Hermione rolled her eyes at his request, lifting up onto her elbows. "I'll think about it, but it seems silly, doesn't it? Especially a photo shoot — for Merlin's sake, it would be like we're just asking for attention! Anyway, I don't feel like airing dirty laundry about my marriage, and no one needs to know any more about my private life than they already do."

Draco pressed his lips together, bothered by her nonchalant dismissal of being interviewed as a couple. Despite saying she wanted to try something more serious with him, he continued to question whether their relationship was really just a one-off to her—something to scratch an itch and fill her time while she got herself back together after her divorce.

The logical part of his brain told him they'd only been dating a little over a month, and he shouldn't expect more from her at this point. But the jealous and attention-seeking part of him was dying to show everyone that she belonged to _him._ He could barely voice that thought to himself, and he'd certainly never say it out loud to her; if he did, she'd give him a well-deserved lecture on how no woman "belonged" to anybody. But nonetheless, the possessive feeling was there, and an interview with Parvati would fulfill his secret desire in a highly public way, while also proving to him that she really was serious about the two of them.

His expression must have belied some of his thoughts, because she furrowed her brows and reached up to stroke his arm. "Is everything okay, darling?"

He shook his head, perking up a bit at her endearment, and tried to stop brooding. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just a long day ahead."

She sat up, the covers pooling in her lap, and ran her fingers across his thigh, sending small thrills through him. "Will you call me tonight?" she asked, her voice soft.

"Certainly," he breathed.

She moved closer and pulled him in for a languid kiss, melting away his uncertainties about the two of them, for the moment. He considered pushing her into the mattress for a quick round of morning sex, but he needed to go home to shower and pack before meeting his mother for a very early breakfast at the Manor. Narcissa had information from the Greengrasses about the Death Eater meeting Gareth had attended the previous night. Draco was due to meet with Potter at the DMLE afterward, to relay the information, before taking his portkey to France.

"I'll miss you," she whispered, staring into his eyes while she pulled back from him.

Merlin, he couldn't wait to be done with this trip to France so he could spend time with her this weekend. Suddenly he remembered Saturday was his birthday. In all the commotion of the _Prophet_ mess and ensuing fallout, on top of his work, travel, and the DMLE investigation, he'd completely forgotten. "Love, I just remembered, Theo and Blaise and I are going out Saturday night for my birthday. Can you come? I think Anna and Tracey are coming, too."

Her face fell at his invitation, and she shook her head. "The first game of the season for Harry and Ginny and Ron's recreational Quidditch league is Saturday night at the Burrow. I agreed to go watch the game. I'm so sorry, Draco; I didn't know this weekend was your birthday."

"That's okay," he said, rising from the bed, his voice suddenly flat as his earlier questions about his importance in her life crept back in. He tried to keep his tone neutral. "I forgot about it myself, with everything else happening this week." Before three days ago, they couldn't be seen in public together, so it wasn't a surprise that neither of them had invited the other to their Saturday night plans. But nonetheless, he was irked at the thought of her spending his birthday evening watching her ex-husband play Quidditch — she didn't even _like_ Quidditch!

Turning away from the bed, he pulled on his trousers and shirt, trying to hide his chagrin. When he spun back to her, her amber eyes were looking at him in concern, and an unspoken question played at her lips; she seemed to sense their conversation had bothered him.

He wasn't in the mood to share his feelings, and he was close to being late for breakfast with his mother. He bent down to give her a kiss goodbye, cutting off anything she might be about to ask. "Bye, love. I'll give you a call tonight." With a gentle squeeze of hands, he saw himself out, shivering slightly in the still-chilly morning air, and made his way home for a quick shower.

* * *

Several hours later, Draco sat in the DMLE waiting for Harry, who was late for their meeting. Draco had agreed to help Potter on the condition the Ministry donate his payments to St. Mungo's for cruciatus-related potions research. Waiting on Potter was exacerbating his already-foul mood after breakfast with his mother, and he was considering charging Potter extra for the delay.

Draco had been about to rise from the breakfast table to travel to the Ministry for said meeting, when Narcissa had stilled him. "I'd like to invite Ms. Granger to join us for your birthday dinner this weekend, dear."

He had swiveled his head slowly toward his mother. "You mean Sunday night dinner with Father?" He was incredulous when she nodded yes, so he attempted to clarify. "You want to invite Hermione. For dinner. At the Manor, where she was tortured by Aunt Bella. With Father… who might have a seizure in the middle of the meal?"

His mother's demure facade had faltered under his line of questioning. "Well, I hadn't thought about it quite like that…" she trailed off.

Suppressing a sigh, he asked, "How had you thought about it, then?"

Her eyes met his, and he saw a bit of quiet desperation in them, sending him farther into a guilty spiral. He should never have moved out of the Manor, leaving his mother alone with his ill father and a gaggle of house elves. Of course she would jump at the thought of him having a new woman in his life and him perhaps coming around more often and bringing another female presence into the Manor.

"I had thought it would be nice to get to know her, to show her we accept her as someone important to you."

He bit back a growl. "Mother, you know full well Father wouldn't accept her if he were in his right mind. And besides, we've not been together long—barely more than a month."

She waved him off. "Well, your father is not in his right mind, so what he would or wouldn't have thought is of no import. And I can tell by the look on your face when you talk about her that she's important to you. Regardless of how long you've been seeing each other, your shared history spans 30 years."

"I appreciate your consideration, Mother." It wouldn't do to be dismissive of her. "But Hermione's already hesitant enough about seeing me. I don't think inviting her to dinner at the Manor with Father in attendance is a good idea."

At this, his mother had sat up straighter and narrowed her eyes. "Is the woman ashamed to be associated with you publicly, after all you've done to repair our world and your work with Muggles over the past 20 years?"

He had closed his eyes briefly, calming himself before speaking. "No, Mother. _Hermione_ is hesitant about being in a relationship so soon after her divorce. It has nothing to do with me." At least, he didn't think it did. He _hadn't_ thought it did... But now the question was in his brain, and his confidence faltered somewhat. Especially after she had been opposed to the idea of the interview with Parvati and had declined his birthday dinner invitation in favor of plans to watch a Quidditch game with her friends and ex-husband. Though, she had told him before, " _if you feel me pulling away, know that it's me, and not you."_

Unaware of his moment of mental panic, Narcissa had relaxed and given him a gentle smile. "Well, I won't press you, my Dragon. But please consider it and let me know by the end of the week whether to expect her to join us Sunday evening."

His blood had gone from boiling during their conversation, to simmering by its end, and now back to boiling again while waiting on Potter, who was—he checked the clock—now 15 minutes late. He got up and began pacing, drawing the attention of several Aurors at nearby desks. Clenching his jaw, he moved to sit back down again when Potter rushed in, in a flurry of swirling robes and messy black hair.

"Malfoy! Sorry I'm late! Come on, come on," he motioned to his office. "A couple of my staff got into a little altercation with some suspects they were tracking in the Underground. They ended up in a wand fight in front of a bunch of Muggles in the middle of Paddington Station—caved the ceiling in, injured a few of them—and we had almost no time to get in and do damage control and memory modification before the Muggle police arrived."

Harry shed his robes, which were still covered in dust, and motioned Draco into a seat by his desk. "Coffee?" he asked, before absently sending a _Tergeo_ over to the robes, disappearing the dust so they looked freshly laundered.

Draco shook his head and pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket while Harry summoned a cup of coffee and some creamer and sugar from the kitchen. Draco scooted the paper across Potter's desk as coffee fixings flew by him. "This is the list of everyone who attended the meeting last night. There are about two dozen names there. Gareth thinks about a dozen other members weren't there."

Harry perused the names while Draco kept speaking. "Most of them are related to former Death Eaters, but Gareth said they avoided talking about themselves or their mission in relation to the Death Eaters. They've given themselves a name: Committee for Advancing Wizarding Welfare, or CAWW for short. They seem to have one major goal—"

"Advancing their Pure-blood agenda?" Harry interrupted, looking grim.

"—which is," Draco continued over the interruption, "ensuring the overall welfare of the wizarding world in light of the ongoing pandemic."

"Erm, come again?"

"Yes. This is where they're differentiating themselves from the Death Eaters. Gareth said not a word was mentioned about Pure-blood power or political control last night. They couched nearly all of their plans as a response to their concern for the continued health and safety of wizards during the pandemic."

Harry frowned at Draco in confusion. "I don't understand—how so?"

"Well, Gareth said they're concerned that if wizards are in close enough contact with Muggles, and possibly Muggle-borns, that eventually wizards could be exposed to a future mutated form of the virus that they _are_ susceptible to."

Harry gave a hesitant nod. "I suppose I can see how that makes sense."

Draco could see how it made sense, too, though he didn't like it. "The bad part is related to their opinions on blood purity. Gareth said they're all firm in their belief that Pure-bloods have purely magical blood, but that Half-bloods and Muggle-borns have less magic in their blood, making them susceptible to the virus." It pained Draco to say this, given they'd fought a war to overcome these beliefs. And it felt personal for him now. Astoria had always supported integration; his businesses were dependent on Muggle technology and knowledge; and he was now dating a Muggle-born witch.

Draco continued, "So, this group thinks that Half-bloods and Muggle-borns have actually been contracting the virus all along and displaying varying levels of symptoms and seriousness, depending on how much magic is in their blood."

"Seriously?" Potter shook his head. "They can't truly believe Pure-bloods have more magic; all you have to do is look at Hermione's magical abilities to know that! They're just using that as an excuse to grab power back."

Draco looked at Harry with a grim expression. "Potter, you didn't grow up in Pure-blood society like I did. I don't think many wizards of our generation believe that shite anymore, but for sure lots of them in our parents' generation will die on that hill." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I was taught, growing up, that our blood was truly different—that the makeup of the liquid in our veins is different, and that the more Muggle heritage someone has, the less magic they have in their blood. Or," he frowned, "the more 'tainted' their blood is.

"So, yes, I do think the older generation truly believes this. Among Pure-blood supremacist wizards of our generation, I'd bet half believe the lies they were taught growing up, and others don't believe them at all; they just lust after the power they can reclaim if wizarding society segregates back into a caste system."

Sometimes Draco wished he could just leave wizard society altogether, but the Muggle world had their own social and political problems, too. Britain had been split over Brexit, America's two-party system seemed ready to fracture, the European Union hadn't been able to roll out vaccines quickly enough...

Harry heaved out a sigh. "Okay, so, in an attempt to keep wizards from being exposed to the virus, they're trying to segregate wizards from Muggles and Muggle-borns?"

"Yes. But clearly, given the make-up of the group, they're just trying to protect Pure-bloods, and they don't care what happens to Half-bloods or Muggle-borns."

"Stupid gits," Harry muttered. "Without Half-bloods and Muggle-borns, we wouldn't even have enough wizards for a functioning society."

"Potter," Draco sniffed and looked down his nose at the Auror across from him. "That's much too logical an argument for this group. Besides, they would probably argue back that if Sacred 28 families started having more children again, there would be plenty of Pure-blood wizards for a working society."

Harry frowned, but didn't press the point further. "Okay, so what else did he learn?"

"Gareth said they focused on a few major efforts. The first is Flint and Bulstrode's proposed legislation. He learned that they plan to introduce it next week, and they think it's critical to keeping wizards healthy as the virus continues to mutate.

"And Potter, you were right—they're trying to fill high ranking positions in the Ministry with as many Pure-blood wizards as possible, so they can continue to promote Pure-blood 'rights' from within the Ministry." Draco rolled his eyes as he said "rights."

Harry looked at him in question. "Pure-blood rights?"

"Yes," Draco sighed. "Apparently they feel discriminated against in the current societal order. They think diversity and inclusion policies favor Half-bloods and Muggle-borns, and as a result, Pure-bloods don't have an equal playing field."

"Seriously?" At this, Harry got up and began pacing.

"Serious as a heart attack."

Potter stopped pacing and narrowed his eyes at Draco. "I don't get you, Malfoy. You don't understand half our Muggle sayings, and then you pop out with that? Do you even know what a heart attack is?"

Draco scoffed. "Yes, Potter. I'm in the biotech industry, remember?" Before Harry could answer, he continued Gareth's story. "So to prevent continued 'discrimination' against Pure-bloods, they're trying to fill more positions in the Ministry. Since we don't elect officials besides the Minister, the only way for a 'party' to gain power and influence policy, if you will, is through an organized effort to fill positions within the Ministry, on the Wizengamot, and in the British delegation to the International Confederation of Wizards."

Harry pressed his fingers to his temples, and rubbed circles there for a moment to compose himself. "Okay. Putting aside the blatant entitlement of such a stance—because my job is crime solving, not political commentary—there's nothing criminal about a group of people trying to fill Ministry positions. I can't go after them for that. I also can't go after them for introducing biased legislation. That needs to be fought politically, not by the DMLE. Did they discuss anything related to the potions thefts?"

Draco nodded. "Not as a group, but Gareth overheard part of a side conversation. Clyde Selwyn asked Malvina Bulstrode about progress with the tests on non-Pure-bloods. That was really all he heard, but his inference was that someone associated with CAWW is doing testing on Half-bloods and Muggle-borns to understand the danger to Pure-bloods during the pandemic."

Harry sat back down in his chair and puffed out a breath. "That sounds similar to what you theorized last week: that they're experimenting on patients with the tampered potions. What I don't get, though, is how can generic potions—sleeping potions, pain killers—give them any information about CoVID? I mean, even if St. Mungo's were testing patients for CoVID exposure, how would administering modified potions provide any information?"

Draco shook his head. "I've no idea. Like I said, Gareth hardly heard anything. Just a name—Selwyn mentioned a 'Healer Tutus'—and a mention of tests."

"Tutus isn't a Sacred 28 family name," Harry pointed out.

Draco shrugged. "Perhaps it's someone they're paying, or someone from outside Britain?"

Harry rubbed his neck. "I'd like to put a hidden microphone on Mr. Greengrass for the next meeting. But I don't want to wait to find out what's happening with the potions, especially since it doesn't seem to be a primary topic of conversation at the meetings. Did Mr. Greengrass get a sense of whom within the group is working with the healer at St. Mungo's, besides Selwyn and Bulstrode?"

"I don't know, we can ask him."

"Please do," Harry directed. "I'll ask our Auror team to speak with the director of St. Mungo's, to find out who Healer Tutus is and if he or she is in a position to administer potions to patients. Oh!" Harry popped up from his chair. "Speaking of potions, the lab tests are complete."

He summoned a piece of parchment from an adjoining room and handed it over to Draco. "Those are the results from the decomposition of the tampered potion samples we collected. I thought we might need your help to break them down fully, but our team was able to get it done on their own." Harry looked proud of his staff.

"They found exactly what you thought they would: increased potencies of the ingredients you discovered as commonalities. Hopefully we can figure out more about how they're being used once we know more about Healer Tutus." Pulling out a pen and parchment, Harry started writing. "Can you relay these questions back to Gareth? Any answers he can give us regarding what he overheard about patient tests may help when we talk to St. Mungo's."

Potter handed Draco the list and got up to see him to the door, but then he paused halfway around his desk. "What's the status of your vaccine development, Malfoy?"

"We're expecting to start trials in July and be ready for approval and mass distribution in the Muggle world in September."

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek. "Do you think a vaccine developed by a Malfoy business would be marketable in the wizarding community? Even though we know we're not susceptible, the fear of a mutated form that could affect wizards isn't so far-fetched. If we could push vaccination on wizards—all wizards, no matter their blood heritage—perhaps we could head off this ridiculous Pure-blood power grab." He looked to Draco for his reaction.

"That's not a bad idea, Potter." Draco nodded to himself and then flicked his eyes to Harry's. "Our vaccine won't be ready for several months, though. You've got to figure out what's going on with these potions experiments on patients right now, before they make anyone seriously ill."

Potter agreed, shaking Draco's hand before he walked out the door. Their conversation replayed in his mind on auto-loop while he made his way to the lifts. He finally forced it away from his thoughts as the lift doors closed, trying to focus on his upcoming meetings at PotionLab's headquarters in Paris.

* * *

By the time Draco returned to England Friday evening, he felt a sore throat coming on, and his normally impeccable appearance was, well, not impeccable... rather disheveled, actually, he thought to himself as he stared at his reflection in the hallway mirror. His hair wasn't perfectly coiffed, he had wrinkles in his suit jacket and pants, and—he looked closer—faint purple half-moons under his eyes.

He stripped off his tie and jacket, tossing them onto the coat stand. As tired as he was, he had a surplus of physical energy he needed to expend. SItting in meetings all day had exhausted him mentally but left him restless and in need of movement. Having discovered recently that he and Hermione both had smartphones—her to stay in touch with her parents, and him to communicate with his Muggle business associates—he texted her:

I'm home - need to work out  
Want to run? Or tennis?  
Will fly if you're a no

He was sipping down a potion to cure his sore throat when he heard the ding of her reply.

Go fly. Lmk when you want to meet

He sent a thumbs up response and ran up to change out of his godforsaken business clothes and hit the Quidditch pitch.

An hour later, he greeted Hermione at the door, and a happy thrill ran through him at the affectionate smile she gave him. Her excitement at seeing him, coupled with the easy phone conversations they'd had over the past couple of nights, restored most of his confidence in her interest in him, despite the fact that he wouldn't be spending his birthday with her tomorrow evening.

They made their way to the kitchen, where he settled back against the kitchen breakfast bar, hands on her hips holding her close, and snogged the living daylights out of her.

She laughed when they came up for air. "Well, hello to you, too, darling! That was quite the greeting!"

He nuzzled his nose into her neck, running kisses up to her ear, where he breathed, "I missed you. I'm glad to see you."

He heard her breath hitch, and he pressed closer, thrilled at his effect on her and roused by her proximity. One of her hands wandered under his shirt, stroking along his torso, and she let out a small whimper while he continued kissing along her neck.

Their fingers and mouths roamed, delighting in each other's touch after several days apart. Slowly they came to a halt, and she pulled back, looking up at him. "How was today?" she asked. "Did you complete your acquisition negotiations?"

'We did." A wide smile graced his face; he was excited about the new company they were acquiring. "All that's left is for our legal counsel to finalize the contract and sign the documents."

He paused and looked closely at her, noticing the dark circles under her eyes, which he'd never seen on her before. "Love, you look exhausted. Would you rather spend the evening alone and we can see each other tomorrow?"

"No, no. I want to be with you tonight." She hesitated for a moment. "But I'm not up for going out. I… I had another episode with my arm yesterday, and I'm just really exhausted. I'm not surprised it happened, I guess, with all that went on this week..."

His brows furrowed. "Are you okay? Why didn't you say anything when we talked last night?"

"Well, there was nothing you could do about it from France, and I didn't want you to worry." She shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. "I called Ginny, and she helped me get through most of the evening and this morning. Though, she wasn't available at dinner time, and Ron ended up coming over with dinner." She scowled at the thought.

"Wait a minute." Draco tried to quell the sudden hurt and frustration that bubbled through him at her words. He closed his eyes, trying to latch on to one of the half-formed thoughts fighting for purchase in his head and translate it into words that sounded calm and not accusatory. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes; she was looking up at him, slightly confused.

"I wish you'd told me," he started. "Even if I wasn't here to help you, I still want to support you when you need it."

"Draco, it really wasn't a big deal. It's just something that happens, and I've learned to live with it."

"Maybe it doesn't feel like a big deal because you're used to it, but I was with you last time; I know it's pretty incapacitating and exhausting. You have to call someone to help you get through it. Hermione, I care about you, and I want to know what's going on and be here for you!"

She stared at him blankly, seeming unsure how to respond.

"You'd want to know if Rose or Hugo, or your mum or dad, was ill," he stated.

"Well, yes, but that's different."

"How is it different?!"

She sighed. "They're my family."

"You know I would have come back from France to help you if you needed it, right? That if Ginny, or Ron"—he suppressed a scowl—"weren't available, I'd have gladly come back to help?"

She looked at him with wide eyes. "But it _wasn't_ necessary. Ginny _was_ available and able to help. But"—she spoke over him as he started to protest—"I hear what you're saying. I don't think I'd be comfortable asking you to portkey back to help me when you're in the middle of a business trip, but I appreciate the fact that you'd be willing to."

She wasn't hearing what he was saying. "Hermione, I'm not just "willing" to. I _want_ to. I want you to lean on me." _And I want to be able to lean on you. But you've already said that might be too much to ask._ He floundered at that thought and went silent.

"Okay," she said.

He searched her eyes, trying to figure out what she was saying "okay" to.

She must have read his confusion, because she elaborated. "I mean okay, I'll try to lean on you. When hard things come up. Like this." She shrugged her left shoulder where her arm was still weak. "I didn't mean to upset you. It's hard to admit weakness, Draco. I've spent my life proving that I'm strong enough and powerful enough to be in this world with all of you Pure-blood wizards, despite my Muggle heritage. When this happens," she nodded to her arm, "it makes me feel weak and helpless, and it's not something I particularly want to talk about or share with others."

"Love, sometimes sharing a burden makes it easier to carry, and makes you stronger."

Her eyes gleamed wet in response, reflecting the kitchen lights, and a red flush crept up her cheeks. He'd struck a nerve of some sort, or maybe just triggered a release from always trying to feel invincible. He drew her back toward him, and she tucked her head into his chest.

She murmured "Thank you" against his shirt, and they stood like that for a minute while she composed herself before pulling away again.

"Why don't we order some pizza and have an easy, quiet night in?" Draco suggested.

"That sounds good." She nodded and let out a little laugh. "In fact, I wouldn't say no to spending the evening in pajamas reading on the sofa."

His lips curled into a broad grin. "Pizza and pajamas it is, love."

She finally cracked a smile again. "No pj's till after pizza though; I'm not quite heathen enough to wear sleep clothes at dinner."

They ordered their meal and moved to the living room, where Hermione asked, "So tell me more about what Mr. Greengrass learned from the Death Eater group." He had given her a very brief overview Wednesday night on the phone.

Draco relayed Gareth's experience at the CAWW meeting in more detail, and they discussed possible plots until their pizza arrived. Hermione was concerned about the patients who might be in danger, but she didn't have any theories on what specific experiments could be performed with the tampered potions .

After taking a bite of his food, Draco changed the subject. "Have you given any more thought to Parvati's interview request?"

She looked at him in surprise, and he rushed to say, "I thought you might have thought differently about it after sitting with it for a few days."

"Draco, I already said that I don't want to share details of my private life. I spent the first five years of my adulthood constantly being trailed by reporters and paparazzi after the war… I got enough unwanted publicity to last a lifetime. I mean, haven't you, too?"

He debated how he wanted to phrase his thoughts, so as not to offend her. "Yes, I've gotten plenty of unwanted publicity. And I also dislike it. But Parvati's request is different. She's asking us to sit down for an interview, where we control the information getting out. That's so much better than rumors flying around."

She sighed, and looked a little sad. "I don't know how Scorpius has been taking this, but Rose still isn't speaking to me."

Draco's face softened; he knew she was upset at her daughter's reaction to the article in the Sunday _Prophet._

"I don't want more publicity out there, giving her more reason to be upset. And I also don't want Ron to think I'm an attention hound, at his expense."

His face hardened again. It was always Ron. Ron's Quidditch game tomorrow night. Ron bringing her dinner while Draco was in France. Ron's reaction to her dating Draco. They were divorced for Merlin's sake!

"Hermione, why does it matter what Ron thinks? You're divorced! You already told me he doesn't care that you're seeing someone new! Isn't that why you split, because you were done with each other? _So what_ if he doesn't like seeing you in the news?" He stopped himself before he got truly angry and said something he regretted.

Hermione stopped eating, and her jaw tightened. She was quiet for a moment, then spoke in an even tone. "Those are reasonable questions, though I don't like you griping at me about it." She narrowed her eyes at him briefly. "Whether I like it or not, Ron and I are still tied together by virtue of having two children to parent together. We still have to interact on a regular basis, and we share the same family and friends. It's in both his and my interest to not piss the other one off. Discussing my divorce in an interview with you would be one-sided and in no one's best interest." She paused, then added, "And that's on top of all the other reasons I've told you I don't want to do the interview."

Draco rubbed his hands down his face, then looked at her. "I just… I wish you hadn't turned Parvati down before we talked about it. You shut it down before even asking my opinion. I mean, now that you've put it all out there, your concerns do outweigh the benefits. I just wish you'd talked to me first, though, before writing it off as a done decision."

She nodded. "Point taken."

They went back to eating their pizza in awkward, slightly tense silence, which eventually gave way to light chatter and a less strained atmosphere by the time they finished their meal. After cleaning up, Hermione approached him. "Thanks for telling me how you feel. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about Parvati's request before making up my mind against it. Are we okay about it now?"

 _Well, she told me at the start to be patient with her, and we've survived our first disagreement without her running away, so yes, I guess we're okay._ He nodded, and she stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss.

"Thank you," she breathed.

He wasn't sure what she was thanking him for, but it felt nice, so he simply kissed her back.

"Speaking of talking before making decisions," he grimaced, "Mother has invited you to join us for dinner at the Manor Sunday."

Hermione's brows rose in surprise.

"I told her I thought it was a bad idea. Father's… not in his right mind, and he has frequent seizures. We're not going to get out of Mother insisting to meet you soon, but I think tea or lunch, or really anything without Father present, would be better."

She nodded, looking apprehensive.

"Would you like to join us for dinner, or would you prefer to meet my mother another time?"

"Honestly? I'd rather not join your dinner. I don't have good memories of your father nor of the Manor. I'd be" — she hesitated, trying to find the right word— "pleased to meet your mother somewhere else at some point."

Draco breathed a silent sigh of relief, then went upstairs to change into sleep clothes. When he came back down, Hermione had transfigured her work clothes into pajamas, washed her face, and thrown her hair into a messy knot on the back of her head. He thought she looked beautiful with no makeup covering her features, and told her so while he settled next to her on the sofa with a book.

Blushing, she replied, "Thank you. You look rather dashing yourself with your reading glasses and lounge clothes." Running her hands across his chest, she leaned up and kissed him. It deepened, and he pulled them down onto the sofa while his hands roamed under the hem of her top. She sucked in a breath at his touch, the pads of his fingers grazing along her warm, soft skin, and she moved her mouth down to his neck, peppering kisses across his throat.

After several minutes, the books fell to the floor, and not too long after, their pajamas did too. They lost themselves in each other, and somehow it felt even sweeter with the knowledge that Draco had shown a side he'd kept tightly coiled around himself, and she had stayed. When it became clear no reading was going to happen tonight, they moved their lovemaking upstairs. Hermione insisted he keep his reading glasses on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually update every other Saturday, but my next update will be delayed until March 6 or March 13. I'm writing a piece for International Witches Day Fest and need to make time to work on it. The fest centers on influential activists and organizations for women's rights and empowerment. I chose Frida Kahlo, and am super excited to write an art-centered Harry Potter piece that focuses on this amazing Mexican Modernist artist and feminist.
> 
> Thank you to my fabulous alphabet canttouchthis and Astrangefan, who worked endlessly with me to make sure I accurately portrayed all of Draco's feelings in this chapter - which entailed many comment bubbles of me psychoanalyzing him to try to understand him. And thank you, readers, for continuing to read this first foray of mine into fanfiction writing - I appreciate every kudos and comment that comes through. :)


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